


it's a long way down (from here to the sound)

by merionettes (acchikocchi)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Family Bonding, Law School, M/M, squabbling means i love you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24927016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acchikocchi/pseuds/merionettes
Summary: Glenn Fraldarius is anyone's dream kid. He's wrapping up his fourth semester of law school with a four point oh and scholastic honors. He's got a summer associate position lined up at a prestigious firm that will open doors—not to mention clerkships—when it's time for the job hunt. He doesn't have an arrest record, or an expensive cocaine habit. He's a loving brother and a responsible son."No offense," he says, "but you're out of your fucking mind."--Glenn agrees to watch the house for the summer. It doesn't go quite how he expects.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Glenn Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Glenn Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 68
Kudos: 288





	it's a long way down (from here to the sound)

**Author's Note:**

> a thousand thanks to seabee for extensive cheerleading, kii for proofreading, jenny for localpicking, and yrin for research consultation. a thousand apologies to law students everywhere.
> 
> dedicated to my little brother, who god willing will never read it.

Glenn Fraldarius is anyone's dream kid. He's wrapping up his fourth semester of law school with a four point oh and scholastic honors. He's got a summer associate position lined up at a prestigious firm that will open doors—not to mention clerkships—when it's time for the job hunt. He doesn't have an arrest record, or an expensive cocaine habit. He's a loving brother and a responsible son.

"No offense," he says, "but you're out of your fucking mind."

"Glenn," his father says, pained. No one does pained like Rodrigue Fraldarius.

"It's an hour each way on commuter rail, and that's before you add drive time. I live two blocks from the F train. Charon & Rubens is four stops away. Forget the subway, even. I could bike. I could walk!" That idea is a joke, because Glenn isn't crazy enough to walk forty-five minutes in a suit and tie in the city in July. But he _could._ More importantly, he has plans for a summer free of case law and exam prep, and they don't include spending his evenings and weekends on fucking Long Island.

What Glenn says aloud is, "Besides, it's Felix. It's not like he's going to be throwing wild parties while you're gone. He'll probably just spend the whole summer holed up in the basement watching kung-fu movies and working out." 

"That," their father says, "is exactly what concerns me."

Glenn, mouth open to deliver his next argument, stops and thinks.

Felix in the kitchen: "I don't know, I just put in a bunch of the stuff from the laundry room. What? It said detergent." Felix in the bathroom: "Uh, I know the shower's not draining, that's why I was in and out in like under five minutes." Felix in the pantry: "It's just one moldy spot, scrape it off." College senior? D-I athlete? Felix may be a legal adult on paper, but he has the survival skills of a wet paper bag.

So that's how Glenn ends up agreeing to babysit the house, his little brother, and his little brother's weird friends for the summer.

* * *

"Home sweet home," Glenn says, surveying the kitchen.

Felix, in his second skin of GMU hoodie, running shorts, and Adidas slides, crosses his arms over his chest. "Dad put you up to this, didn't he."

"Of course not," Glenn says. "I can't wait to spend two hours a day on the MTA all goddamn summer long just to spend some quality time with my angry little brother." Felix snorts, angrily. "Obviously he put me up to it. He was afraid you're going to burn the house down."

"That's stupid. I wouldn't have burned the house down." Glenn opens his mouth and Felix goes on, "I wasn't going to cook."

Jesus, Dad was right. "Shouldn't you have a meal plan or something? When—"

"— _I_ was at GMU," Felix mimics.

"—I was at GMU," Glenn says, flipping him off, "we had customized diets for off-season." He taps a finger against his chin, mock-thoughtful. "Maybe I should have a word with your coach." She'd been Glenn's coach, too, of course.

Felix bristles right on cue. "Talk to Coach and I'll cut your fucking arms off."

His little brother is so predictable. It never gets old. 

He pulls out his phone and pretends to scroll through the contacts. Felix, now fully aware he's being trolled, sweeps a leg toward his shin. Glenn dodges, feints, and puts Felix in a headlock. Felix wriggles, struggling—he's all wiry muscle, like a little weasel—and drives an elbow into Glenn's kidney. "Motherfucker," Glenn swears, refusing to let go.

"Get— _off_ —me—"

"Say please." 

"Gonna— _pay_ —"

"Yeah, you wish."

"Hello?"

The deep voice comes from the direction of the open front door. Glenn lets go. Felix, red with exertion, tendrils of hair escaping his ponytail, grinds a foot on his toes as he backs off. Not that effective in sandals, but Glenn's still dressed for work and those leather wingtips weren't cheap. "In the kitchen!" Felix yells.

"Who's that?" Glenn asks. "Friend of yours?"

Felix gives him a look of indescribable disgust, which Glenn genuinely doesn't understand until the new arrival ducks head under the lintel, Glenn opens his mouth, deliberately smarmy introduction at the ready, and two seconds later realizes it's Dimitri.

Glenn's dominant memory of his little brother's best friend, underfoot for as long as he can remember, is the freshman who joined Model UN when Glenn was a senior—a little weedy, a little acned, simultaneously earnest, polite, and absolutely convinced he was right. Once Glenn had gotten him to let go of the inhibition a little bit, he'd absolutely steamrolled the competition. They'd swept the awards at NMUN-NY, the perfect cap on Glenn's high school career.

This Dimitri is not weedy or acned. He's well over six feet tall. His blond hair has grown out, framing a face that is magazine-standard handsome. His shoulders are ridiculous. Glenn remembers, distantly, some photo tag from Felix's barely-updated Facebook about a swim meet.

Glenn's first, horrible thought is, _Oh shit, he got hot._

His second is, _Lock it down right now._ He thinks he does a decent job, as evidenced by how Felix doesn't immediately warp across the kitchen to gnaw his kneecaps off.

"Wow," he says. "Hey, Dimitri. It's been a while."

Dimitri blinks. "Glenn?"

"Aha," Glenn says. "Felix didn't tell you."

"Tell me what? It's very good to see you," he adds, scrupulously polite. So, not that different from high school.

"Dad's doing a guest lecturer thing in London all summer. Some kind of extension series." It's an elite LSE executive ed program, but sure. "And we all know what would happen to a cryptid like Felix if we left him alone. So—" Glenn spreads his arms wide. "Meet the new den mother."

Dimitri displays a smile that frankly should be illegal. "Wonderful! You'll be able to spend so much time together. That's so great."

"Is it," Felix mutters.

"Sure is," Glenn says. "Back to the good old childhood days. I'm thinking maybe we do a chore roster."

"That's a wonderful idea," Dimitri says. "A division of shared yet distinct responsibilities improves both accountability and a diversity of practical skills."

Felix shoots Dimitri a look of undiluted horror. Glenn himself almost does a double take. Dimitri looks back at him with earnest blue eyes. Does he _actually_ — 

It's like some kind of invisible wave passes between them and he just knows. Dimitri's in on it.

"You know we've talked about your living habits before, Felix," Dimitri adds. How does he make it sound so sincere? "This could be a valuable experience for you."

The utter betrayal on Felix's face is too much. Glenn collapses into a crouch, howling with laughter. With an inarticulate sound of rage, Felix attacks him.

"Dimitri, I think this is going to be a great summer," Glenn says, holding Felix off—mostly—with his extra five inches. " _Oof._ You going to be around?"

Dimitri nods. "You're working? In the city?"

"Kinda. Doing the summer associate thing. I'm in—"

"—Law school," Dimitri says. "At Columbia. I heard."

Glenn looks down in surprise. Felix takes advantage of this to get in a good hit and decides to take the victory and back off. "Aww, Felix, were you talking about me?"

"I have to complain to someone," Felix says. "You can catch up on the small talk later. We're going for a run."

"We—are," Dimitri says, ending the sentence with a firmness noticeably absent at its inception. In that compression shirt, it's certainly plausible. "You're welcome to join us," he adds.

Felix rolls his eyes but doesn't actually say no. Touching, but Glenn isn't stupid. He stays in shape, but it's been two years since _he_ was playing D-I soccer. He'll have to get in a little stealth training first. "I'll pass this time. Gotta unpack my stuff and... figure out dinner, I guess." He and Felix trade a look. "Flip you for it."

"Wouldn't want me to burn down the house," Felix says—what a little smartass—and smirks at Glenn as he finally moves to leave. "I have to get my shoes. Coming?" —to Dimitri.

Dimitri obediently follows. "It's good to see you again," he says to Glenn. "Perhaps we can catch up on Friday."

"Friday?" Glenn says.

"Oh yeah." Felix says it like he's just remembered. "Some people are coming over. One of Ingrid's friends is visiting for the weekend."

Glenn pretends to think. "Well, I don't know..."

"Of course, if it's an imposition," Dimitri begins, so Glenn can't even drag it out. He kind of suspects that's why Dimitri did it.

"Yeah, sure, cool. Don't cause any major property damage, you know the drill." Unlikely, but hey. Look, Dad, due diligence. "I'll stay out of your hair."

"For once," Felix says at the same time Dimitri says, "I'm sure you'd be welcome."

Felix and Dimitri trade a very intense look. Glenn doesn't need an interpreter to know what Felix is thinking. He's not sure what Dimitri's game is, though. Unless it really just is politeness, which it might be.

"Thanks, dude. Appreciate it." He flips his hands at them. "Go on. Run, Lassie, run."

After they've gone, with one last middle finger from his adorable little brother, Glenn opens the refrigerator and studies the contents. He opens his phone and googles 'recipes eggs soy sauce broccoli chicken breast.'

A few minutes later, he changes the search term to 'my location best takeout'.

* * * 

Felix and Dimitri have, apparently, a standing 6 AM appointment for their morning run. This is roughly when Glenn is hitting his first snooze alarm, and earlier than he's voluntarily woken up since the days of morning practice. But if this is how they express their friendship these days, great.

Glenn doesn't know what went down with Felix and Dimitri and Felix-and-Dimitri a few years ago, just that for a while whenever he came home for break Felix was slouching around the house scowling and slamming doors—so, not that different from usual—and when Glenn asked hot-button questions like "Hey, what's Dimitri up to these days?" Felix snapped "How the fuck should I know?" and stomped out of the room. When Glenn asked his dad, only half-joking, if they'd been dating, Rodrigue just looked incredibly sad, so much so that Glenn dropped it without any smartass follow-up. Whatever it was, a couple years into college Felix started saying things like, "By the way, Dimitri says hi or whatever," and just like that it was like the schism had never happened. 

Although Glenn is, of course, dying of curiosity, he's—again—not stupid. Asking people about their feelings to their face isn't how they do things in their family, anyway. He'll just have to bide his time. 

Besides, he has better things to do than spend all day wondering about his little brother's ancient interpersonal drama. Cassandra Rubens-Nevrand—that's C. Rubens of Charon & Rubens, LLP to you—is a fucking demon. Glenn's 1L internship at Kleiman Duscur Kleiman was no joke, he'd thought at the time, but compared to this? A gentle stroll in the park. "Call me Cassandra." Hah. If he wants to lose his balls, maybe.

He'd picked the firm for a lot of reasons, though, and one of them was hands-on experience. So he buckles down and digs into the research load and fetches and carries and proofreads C. Rubens' briefs, and at the end of his first week a couple of the younger attorneys take him and the other summer associate, some guy named Randolph, out for happy hour. C. Rubens herself does not join them. It's relatively low-key, far from the Big Law summer scene of legendary gossip, which is just fine with Glenn. He can keep up with the best, or worst, of them if he has to, but he's exhausted. He gets home around nine, ready to put on Netflix and unwind.

He forgot about Felix's friends. The extra cars in the driveway give him a hint of what to expect. He's still surprised to ditch his attache case and shrug off his jacket—Jesus, he's twenty-four, it's too early to feel like a sitcom dad—and find at least a dozen people in their living room. Glenn doesn't even recognize most of them. Since when did Felix have this many friends?

There's music playing and plastic cups out. The tiny redhead nearest the door is first to notice him. "Oh! Are you Felix's brother? You look just like him!"

Glenn swallows his immediate reaction of _I do not_ , because he isn't twelve years old, but also, ouch. "That's me," he says instead. "Glenn Fraldarius. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Annette! Thank you for letting us borrow your house!" Her head swivels rapidly from side to side, like a little bird. "Um, I'm not sure where Felix is—"

"Hello, Glenn," Dimitri says, coming up to them. Unfortunately, still hot. This will be Glenn's cross to bear all summer, apparently. "How was your week?"

"Long," Glenn says, succinct. He unknots his tie and strips it from his neck. "I'm gonna die before I get an offer. It's fine. You know all these kids?"

Dimitri looks around the room. "Yes, I believe so." He looks back at Glenn, concern written across his face. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, it's fine. Just didn't know Felix knew this many people outside the soccer team. I mean that in a good way."

Dimitri laughs. "I believe a few of his teammates will also be coming." Coming? As in, not here yet? 

Glenn realizes, with a rising sense of indignation, that Felix _is_ , in fact, throwing wild parties while their dad is gone.

Well, okay, this doesn't count as wild even for the goody-two-shoes from GMU, of whom Glenn counts himself a distinguished alumnus. But it's definitely not just Felix's little quartet from high school. Speaking of which, there's Ingrid, holding hands with some girl Glenn doesn't know.

"I'm gonna say hi to Ingrid," Glenn says to Dimitri. "Then I think I want a drink."

Dimitri says something that Glenn doesn't catch as he closes in. "Hi, Glenn," Ingrid says.

"Hey, it's the fastest wind-up in the NEWMAC." Little Ingrid, who he taught to dribble and do keepie-uppies. Now she plays softball for her women's college and probably wants to stomp her cleats all over his entitled masculine face, which, well, he's just done a year of family law. Hard to argue. "How's Boston?"

"Okay," Ingrid says. "This is my girlfriend. Dorothea, Glenn's Felix's older brother." 

"Hi," the girlfriend says in a gorgeous, breathy voice and Glenn actually takes a good look at her. She looks like she came straight out of some alluring and otherworldly Instagram shot. Wow, Ingrid. 

He clears his throat. "Nice. Good to meet you."

"Don't be gross, Glenn," Ingrid says.

"Remember when you had a crush on me," Glenn says, just to be an asshole. "That was adorable."

Ingrid rolls her eyes. "Come on, babe, I'll introduce you to my friends."

"What," Glenn says, "I'm not your friend now?"

Ingrid's hot girlfriend wiggles at her fingers at him as they go. She's definitely laughing. What's up with Felix's friends? Like, they're definitely above average. _His_ friends don't look like that, with the exception of Holst Goneril, who does literal modeling. Glenn hooked up with him once. It was all right.

Dimitri reappears holding a red plastic cup and a bottle of beer. "Here. Your choice."

"You're my favorite of Felix's friends." Glenn looks at the cup. "Is that going to fuck up my internal organs or just my taste buds?"

"Just the taste buds," Dimitri says, perfectly genuine.

Glenn snorts. "Thanks. I'll take the beer."

Dimitri smiles and hands it to him. "By the way, Felix is hiding in the kitchen."

There he is, leaning against the counter, tapping away at his phone. "Get off the phone and go talk to your friends," Glenn says, his best Rodrigue voice.

"Why do you care," Felix says, fingers flying.

Because it's my job annoy you, Glenn starts to say, and doesn't get the chance.

"Hey there, cats and kittens, the wait is over, your guy is here." Sylvain Gautier strolls into the house like he's tracked by his own personal spotlight. "Sylvain!" Annette squeals, and "Sylvain, you made it," says Dimitri, sounding pleased.

Felix looks up from his phone. "Hey."

"Switched shifts just for you guys," Sylvain says to Dimitri, and turns a thousand-watt beam on Felix. "Felix! It's been a whole two weeks. Have you missed me? I missed you."

"You're ridiculous."

Sylvain opens his arms wide. "Your adorably prickly demurral doesn't fool me. C'mon. Bring it in."

"Get away from me," Felix says, but doesn't actually attempt to move as Sylvain wraps him in a bear hug. Not until Sylvain blows a raspberry against his cheek and he flails to push a hand against his face. Sylvain lets him go, cackling. 

"Hey, Gautier," Glenn says. "Long time no see."

"Fraldarius," Sylvain replies with a wink. Sure enough, Felix makes an irritated noise. "Fraldariuses," Sylvain amends. "Fraldarii?"

"What is wrong with you," Felix says. 

"Felix mentioned you were watching the house for the summer," Sylvain says to Glenn. "Law school, right? Definitely got the look." Felix snorts. Before Glenn can decide whether that was intentional, Sylvain's moved on to Ingrid, who's joined them with girlfriend in tow. "Hey, it's my best girl."

"I'm not your anything," Ingrid says, even as she gives him a hug. "Sylvain, this is—"

"Dorothea Rose," he says. "Right? I've heard your stuff."

Dorothea gives Ingrid a fond smile. "Ingrid sent it to you."

"No, I work at the Ballroom. Gotta keep tabs on the latest indie sensations, the crowd can sense weakness. Not to mention the artists."

Now Dorothea is beaming. Ingrid is looking at Sylvain like she can't decide whether she wants to punch him or thank him. Glenn leaves the fantastic four to their bonding hour and decamps for the living room. Can't hurt to figure out what kind of people his brother hangs out with.

It's really not that crowded in the end. Glenn finds himself deep in conversation with a kid named Ashe, who is apparently also on the GMU soccer team, about the ethics of working within the system. Annette is frowning in fierce concentration as she aims a ping pong ball, playing against, or maybe in tandem with, some kid with electric blue hair. He's pounding the table as he cheers her on, so it's unclear. A big guy is demonstrating how he can bench press a flustered kid with glasses, and there's a sweet-faced girl with long hair opening the windows. 

Glenn definitely smells weed, and he's not sure how he ended up with a fresh beer in hand, but hey. Undergrads are so resourceful. It's great character building.

He stretches his legs out on the rug. Ashe has been absorbed into a larger semicircle of Dimitri and Ingrid and Ingrid's girlfriend, draped over the furniture and deep in earnest discussion. Glenn doesn't think _they're_ even high. That's just how they operate. He remembers those days. God, he sounds old. He feels old, or maybe just tired. He leans back against the foot of the sofa and listens.

Glenn opens his eyes to Ingrid crouched in front of him. He has the feeling someone just asked a question.

"I'm awake," he says, automatically. His voice is groggy. "What?"

"So that's a no," Ingrid says. "To whether you're sleeping there on purpose."

"It's quite late," A deep voice is coming from somewhere over his head. "Everyone is going home, or going to sleep."

"Okay," he says, and closes his eyes again. "Thanks."

"Go to _bed_ , Glenn." Ingrid's voice.

"I am in bed." 

"You're sitting upright. On the floor."

Weak counterargument. Can't let it stand. "Am not."

"God, they're absolutely related." Ingrid's voice is exasperated. "This one just fakes it better." The deep voice chuckles again. "You take the other arm, Dimitri. Come on. Time to get up."

Glenn comes to for real standing upright, two light-eyed blonds peering into his face.

"Wait," he says. "What just happened."

"There he is." Ingrid pats him on the shoulder. "Go to bed, Glenn. I'm leaving now."

One light-eyed blond. Glenn looks at Dimitri. "You're all good with a place to sleep. Or a way to get home. Whatever." Dimitri nods. Glenn rubs his face. "Wow, this is going to be embarrassing tomorrow."

Dimitri smiles. "Don't worry," he says. So that's where the deep voice was coming from. "I won't tell Felix."

Abandoning his older brother to sleep on the floor. So much for sibling loyalty. Glenn stumbles up to his bedroom and doesn't bother to pull down the covers. He's asleep within minutes.

* * *

The sun hits Glenn full in the face. He rolls over and buries his face in the pillow. It's too late: he's awake. Why didn't he close the blinds last night?

Because... he fell asleep in the middle of his little brother's party. And his little brother's undergrad friends dragged him upstairs to bed. Right. Great.

Glenn sits up and rubs his face. He's still wearing his work clothes, for God's sake. He didn't even drink that much. It's barely nine. He stumbles into the shower and emerges feeling marginally more human. 

The first floor isn't as bad as he expected. No one even sleeping on the sofa, much less the rug. The kitchen counter is covered in half-empty bottles. Someone bagged most of the garbage.

Outside, birds sing. Bees buzz. A lawnmower rumbles. Inside, it's silent as the grave. 

Let no one say Glenn never did anything for his brother's friends. He pulls out a box from the cupboard and gets to work. 

Annette is the first to appear, summoned by the sizzle of oil and the scent of fresh coffee. "Oh my god," she breathes. "Is that—"

"Coffee's in the pot on the counter." Glenn flips a pancake. "Plain or chocolate chip?"

Ingrid is next, hair coming out of her braid. "Bless you," she says fervently, and collapses into one of the dining chairs. Her girlfriend follows a minute later and immediately curls up to doze on her shoulder.

Glenn has no idea how many of them ended up crashing here. Well, it's a big box. The sweet-faced girl he vaguely remembers from the night before pours mugs of coffee and hands them around. "Mercedes," she says, when he asks her name. "I hope you slept well, you must have been so tired." Brutal. 

The other resident of the house is one of the last to show his face. "Where have _you_ been," Glenn says.

"Asleep," Felix says. He eyes the skillet. "Pancakes?"

"You're welcome," Glenn says, rolling his eyes. Felix pulls out a second pan from the cupboard and a carton of eggs from the refrigerator. At Glenn's skeptical look, he says defensively, "I can make eggs."

"Oh," Annette exclaims, "did you say eggs, Felix?"

Felix stiffens. Glenn smirks. Then Felix says, "Yes. Do you want some."

Wait, are Felix and Annette dating? Glenn looks down at Felix's disheveled head. Unlikely, but how else to explain this. Paranormal powers, maybe.

The table is eerily silent. Glenn glances over, curious, and catches Dorothea, Annette, and Mercedes looking back with smiles ranging from amused to doting. Annette gives a small, guilty _eep._

Dorothea says, "Sorry, you two just look—"

"I _know_ ," Annette says.

Sylvain takes a seat and drops his head on the table. His hair is a mess. "Morning," he croaks. After a minute he looks back up and blinks. "Am I seeing double?"

Glenn looks him over, amused. "Thought you'd be immune to this, Gautier."

Sylvain cracks one eye. "That's all in the past. I'm a reformed man."

"Uh huh." Ingrid.

"Come on, Felix," Sylvain says pathetically. "Tell them."

Felix looks up from the frying pan, and back down. "You're not as insufferable as you were a couple years ago."

"See?" Sylvain says. Ingrid gives him a pitying look. 

The pancakes are almost done when Glenn hears the front door open and close. "Good morning," Dimitri's voice calls. He appears a minute later, damp vee of sweat darkening his chest, hair pulled back, glowing with energy. Glenn does not drop the skillet. "Felix," Dimitri says, faintly chiding, "you missed our run."

"I was sleeping," Felix says. He dishes out two plates of eggs and carries them over, one for himself, one for Annette. "When did you get up, anyway?"

"I'm afraid I got a late start," Dimitri said regretfully. "I slept well past seven."

Everyone—Glenn included—pauses what they're doing to gape at him in equal parts horror, disbelief, and disgust.

"Bullshit," Sylvain says suddenly. "I got up to piss at eight and you were out cold on the floor."

"And yet for a moment you all believed it," Dimitri says, and is pelted with napkins. He takes in the scene in the kitchen. "Glenn, you're making breakfast?"

"Don't get too excited, it's from a box. But as long as you don't have a problem with pancakes..."

"I would love pancakes," Dimitri says, with heartrending sincerity.

"Then your wish..." Glenn slides the last pancake from the spatula to the top of a towering stack and switches off the burner. He delivers the platter to the middle of the table as six pairs of eyes watch hungrily. "...is my command."

For a few moments there's silence, as the table, including Glenn, digs in. Not bad, mix or no. Annette makes a blissful noise. "Mmm. This is almost as good as having Dedue here."

"Don't get carried away," Felix says. Glenn asks, "Who's Dedue?"

A collective sigh goes up from around the table. Annette is starry-eyed. Even Sylvain looks a little dreamy. "This," Annette says, pulling out her phone, "is Dedue."

Glenn puts down his fork and leans over for a closer look. His eyebrows rise. "Wow."

" _Right_ ," Annette agrees. "He's an amazing cook, too. Dimitri's so lucky."

Oh. Huh. Glenn looks at Dimitri. "Boyfriend?"

Dimitri's ears go red. "No! No. Dedue and I are just friends."

Annette explains. "Freshman year Dedue was really lonely, only no one could tell because he's so huge and scary-looking. And Dimitri was, you know, Dimitri. ‘I must urge you to join me as we break our fast, stout comrade.'" Annette's Dimitri voice is hilarious. "And now they're practically blood brothers!"

"I don't sound like that," says Dimitri, which everyone ignores.

"Got it." Too bad for Dimitri. This Dedue guy is also hot. What _is_ it with Felix's friends. "So where is he right now, instead of here with your merry band?" 

"He went home for the summer," Mercedes says sadly. Ingrid adds, "He's from Alaska."

"He's from Vancouver."

"Whatever."

"You don't even go to GMU," Glenn says to Ingrid.

Ingrid gives him the same sort of pitying look she gives Sylvain. Oof. "I visit."

"All right, all right," Glenn says. "Since I clearly know nothing about anything. What are you doing for the summer, what's your major. Hit me." Undergrads love talking about their majors.

Ingrid is staying in Boston and interning at a nonprofit. Dorothea graduated from Berklee and just cut her first record in a friend's basement. Annette is double majoring in anthropology and linguistics. Mercedes is the same age as Glenn—huh—and headed to med school in the fall. Felix takes advantage of the general distraction to coolly cut himself a three-slice-thick bite of Sylvain's pancakes, unobserved. Glenn has to admire his nerve.

Mercedes kindly asks him the obligatory pity questions. "Glenn, Felix said you went to GMU as well? When did you graduate?"

Glenn swallows a bite of pancake. "Two years ago."

"And now—"

"Law school."

"Really?" Annette says. "I'm thinking about law school! Or—"

"Med school, or business school, or going for your PhD," Mercedes, Sylvain, and Felix finish in unison.

Ah, the purity of undergrad, when you truly believe the world is your oyster. Still. "Well," Glenn says, "If you have any questions, feel free to hit me up any time."

"Really?" Annette claps her hands together. "Thank you so much! I'll be sure to!"

"Just remember, you did this to yourself," Felix tells Glenn. Annette turns an outraged face on him and he actually says, "Sorry." 

Glenn eyes Annette. She was holding hands with Mercedes just a minute ago. Maybe Felix is dating both of them. Glenn doesn't judge. Or, well, Felix definitely doesn't have that much game, but if he did, Glenn wouldn't judge.

Sylvain checks his watch. "I gotta get going. Hey, Felix, give me a ride to the station?"

Felix pushes back from the table. "You guys can let yourselves out. Or stick around. Whatever."

Felix's friends hang around the table for a while before slowly dispersing. Ingrid and Dorothea take Ingrid's shitty beater back to her parents' place. "I'll text you my questions, okay?" Annette says cheerily, before leaving with Mercedes. Dimitri insists on finishing the dishes and then sets out to jog home. Glenn takes a fresh thermos of coffee out to the back porch and stretches out in the sun. Bliss.

Some time later the door slams. Keys jingle in the hall. Felix pads out on the porch. 

"Thanks for cooking for them," he says, gruff. "You didn't have to."

Glenn waves a hand. "It's cool."

Felix doesn't budge. "I would have cleaned up."

"Take it up with Dimitri and Annette." That reminds him. "Hey, Felix. Are you dating Annette? And/or Mercedes?"

Felix looks at him in utter horror.

Glenn tries and fails to contain his grin. "It was just a question."

"Never ask me questions again," Felix says, and slams the screen door closed.

* * *

C. Rubens collars him on Wednesday. "How are you settling in?"

"Fine," Glenn says. "Ma'am." 

"Good, because the Gaspard case is going to trial next month and I'll need your help." She heaves a heavy file box into his hands. Glenn's knees buckle. "Let's get going."

Glenn gets home and collapses on the sofa with a pitiful noise, back aching. So many fucking files. Felix wanders out of the kitchen holding what looks like some sort of hideous protein concoction. His hair is shower-damp. "You sound like a dying whale."

"Feel like one, too. Working out?"

"Practice," Felix says. He nudges Glenn with his knee. "Are you dead."

"Yes. Tell Dad I perished trying to carry out his wishes." Glenn rolls over on his back. "You can have the car. Wait, are you old enough to drive?"

"Pretty talkative for a corpse," Felix says, and sits on him.

Felix might not be tall, and he might not be broad, but that minimal volumetric mass is solid muscle. It's like a tiny fucking anvil dropping on his gut. Glenn tries to swear and succeeds only in wheezing. " _Jesus, Felix!_ "

Felix has the remote and is searching the cable menu for—of course, soccer. Something in Spanish. He slumps against Glenn and the sofa with every appearance of permanence.

"Felix," Glenn croaks. "Come on."

Felix is dead weight. He's smirking. "What's the magic word."

"It's I won't make you clean the bathroom if you get the fuck off me. Please."

Felix slides off Glenn so that he's no longer directly squashed beneath 160 pounds of college athlete, but doesn't move any further, so Glenn's still basically a human body pillow. He considers pushing free and decides it's not worth it. Instead he adjusts his neck so he can see the television screen. It's a replay of the Mexican league final. He thinks. Study abroad was a long time ago.

The ref whistles for a free kick. "I'll be out for dinner, by the way," Felix says. "Ingrid's going back tomorrow."

"Cool. I'll order in." The shot misses. Resounding boos from the crowd. "What's Dimitri doing this summer, anyway? He didn't say."

"Working at the foundation." 

That would be why. Okay. Glenn nudges Felix in the side. "Hey. Why aren't _you_ doing anything this summer? Shouldn't you have a job?"

Felix looks down at him, like the answer is obvious. "I'm training."

Felix is playing in a local summer league, because god forbid he go a whole eight weeks until GMU practices start up again without caressing a soccer ball at least three hours a day. Glenn doesn't remember that excuse cutting ice when he was a rising senior, but sure, fine, that's what happens when you're the oldest kid.

Felix looks like he wants to say something. "What?" Glenn says.

Felix's mouth turns down. "Nothing."

The free kick taker scores and rips off his shirt. Yellow card. Glenn looks at the protein drink and says, "Let me try that."

It's not terrible, actually.

Randolph the other summer associate is a nice enough guy, if a little clueless. He's more or less shadowing Seteth Cichol, who has been with the firm for approximately one thousand years, so that's its own struggle. He does that thing, though—"I go to school in Cambridge," the code all insufferable overachievers like themselves understand. Anyway, Glenn's now had like three happy hours with the guy and he's heard a lot about his little sister, so he turns down the next invite and instead gets home at the civilized hour of seven PM. Congrats to him.

The dining table is spread with mixing bowls, spatulae, tubes of frosting, tubs of sprinkles. Annette and Mercedes are bent over an elaborate construction, flat knives and piping tubes in hand. They look up as he walks in.

"Glenn! Hi! Welcome home!"

"Thanks?" Glenn says. "Is that... a cake?"

Annette beams. "Yup! Felix let us borrow your oven! Thank you!"

"My apartment has a tiny kitchen," Mercedes explains. "It's _so_ difficult to mix anything properly, and it would take _forever_ to bake this layer by layer."

"Don't worry! We brought all our own ingredients!"

"Uh, no problem," Glenn says. He sniffs. It smells pretty good. "Hope you're sharing."

"Well, the _main_ cake is for Sylvain," Annette says importantly, "but we made enough batter for an extra layer." She giggles. "On purpose. What's the point of baking something tasty if you can't snack on it afterwards?"

"I like the way you think," Glenn says. "Felix around?"

They exchange a look. "I think he left for soccer practice?" Mercedes offers. 

Well, what the hell. Mercedes and Annette are happy to let him pull up a chair and answer a barrage of questions about old GMU professor gossip while he watches them construct slightly lopsided icing flowers. The slice he receives—fluffy, chocolatey, slightly spicy—is worth every minute. 

Felix gets home, sweat-soaked and grubby, after the finishing touches are in place. "Hey, Felix," Glenn says, pointed. "Your friends are here."

"Oh yeah. Forgot to text you."

"Felix!" Annette pops up in front of his face, fork in hand. "Try a bite!"

"I have to shower."

"You have fifteen seconds to taste our cake first." She's a tiny tyrant. Glenn loves it.

Felix chews for a long, drawn-out minute. Swallows. "I guess it's not terrible," he says.

Annette whips around. "Mercie! Did you hear that!"

Mercedes clasps her hands together. "I just hope Sylvain likes it as much."

Felix scowls at them. Glenn cannot believe how good they are at handling him. "So what did Gautier do to deserve this masterpiece?"

"It's his birthday on Friday! We're going to surprise him!" 

"We are?" Felix says.

"Don't you ever check the group chat, Felix?" Amazing how Felix could have missed it, considering he's been glued to his phone since Glenn moved back in. "Sylvain has to work so we're going to make him come to our place after his shift. And then, cake! And friends!"

"Doesn't he get off at like two in the morning?" Felix says, and then, " _Our_ place?"

Annette blushes bright red, which Glenn guesses answers the question about who's dating who. Mercedes says, "You can sleep on the futon, Felix."

"Great," Glenn says. "I won't wait up for you. Have fun, be safe." Felix grumbles something unintelligible. 

Mercedes (and Annette?) live in Astoria. "How are you going to get this back to the city in one piece?" Glenn asks, eyeing the cake, which is at least three layers under the decoration.

The two exchange a look. "Well, we brought a cake box," says Mercedes. 

"Just... hold on tight and hope for the best?" says Annette.

It's not quite nine. Glenn looks at the clock, and then at the cake, and then heaves a sigh. "Come on. I'll give you a lift."

Annette's eyes go round. "Oh... oh no, that's fine! We can manage it! That's what trains are for!" 

"Pretty sure the subway would shake that thing apart in about one stop," Glenn says. "Give up."

"Felix," Annette says, rapturously, "your brother is _so great_."

"Ugh," says Felix.

"I know," says Glenn.

* * *

"I want you to draft the brief," C. Rubens says to Glenn. He does not trip over his own feet, but it's a near thing. 

"For the Gaspard case?" Glenn says, just to make sure he's hearing things correctly. C. Rubens looks at him like he's an idiot. "I mean, yes. Of course. I'll get started right now."

"It's 5 PM. You can start tomorrow."

"Right. Sure. Tomorrow."

It's not that he's afraid of being put on the spot. Sort of the opposite. But United States v. Lonato Gaspard, co-defendant Christophe Gaspard, is a notorious shitshow, featuring international corporate espionage, wire fraud, forgery, a briefly faked death, and at least one allegation of literal treason, dropped before charges. Charon & Rubens have been retained by the son, who apparently served with Cassandra. They have not been retained by the father.

They've got approximately a snowball's chance in hell on this one, which Glenn is beginning to understand makes C. Rubens come out swinging—not so much her fists as a flaming sword. As he sees it, the rationale behind this decision must be one of the following:

(1) He will be terrible but it won't matter because the case is unwinnable  
(2) He will be terrible and tearing his draft apart will allow her to work out her own aggression  
(3) He will be mediocre but bring fresh perspective to a legal hellmouth  
(4) He will be surprisingly good because she's sensed something special deep inside him  
(5) He will be terrible/mediocre/great which is irrelevant in her latest gambit to shock and awe 

Probably (5). Whatever it is, she doesn't expect him to play it safe. Glenn can work with that. It's a challenge, after all. That's what he wanted and that's what he's got.

The train home gets longer every day. This summer is Glenn's first true commuting experience, and he doesn't love it. Getting up early, fine. Wrapping up a day of hustling for C. Rubens then facing down an hour crammed in a tin can ass to thigh with Wall Street's finest? Not a fan. 

He hears voices somewhere in the house when he gets home. That's nice for them. He flops on the sofa and calls, "Bring me a beer, fraternal slave."

"Fuck you," Felix yells back.

Glenn closes his eyes. He used to do fun and interesting things after work. He used to have hobbies. Right now, all he has the energy for is lying around watching mindless TV, maybe attempting to cook an easy recipe. Maybe.

"Here you are."

Glenn opens his eyes. 

From this angle the blue of Dimitri's eyes is even more startling. His hair is pulled back. The bottle is sweating with condensation. The cap's been removed.

"Thanks," Glenn says, blinking. He takes the bottle.

"You're welcome." Dimitri gives him a nod and disappears from Glenn's field of vision. 

Glenn takes a long pull and almost spills beer all over his shirt. Goddammit. Reluctantly, he sits up. 

"Hey, Dimitri. What do you know about public transportation policy?"

Dimitri stops on the threshold. "Pardon me?"

"Never mind. You staying for dinner? I'm going to order."

"Ah," Dimitri says. "Actually. We're cooking!"

Glenn must have heard wrong. "You're what."

"Felix and I went to the grocery store today! It was an adventure." Under Glenn's sustained stare, Dimitri crumbles. "It's a prepared meal kit." 

Glenn pushes himself to his feet. "This, I've got to see."

"Really, we're fine," Dimitri hastens to say, as he follows Glenn to the kitchen. "You don't have to—"

Glenn takes a swig of his beer and surveys the kitchen. Felix is scowling at the skillet, jabbing at it with a wooden spoon.

"Why is this taking so long," he mutters, without turning around. "Did you read the recipe right? I think we should turn up the heat."

"Definitely don't do that," Glenn says.

Felix whips around. "Who asked you?"

Glenn comes up behind him to get a look at the stove. It looks... like a pretty decent stir fry, honestly. He sniffs theatrically. "Huh. Smells pretty good." He turns his smarmiest smile on Felix. "Good job."

"Shut the fuck up." Sauce splatters across the counter.

"Uh-oh, watch out for that." Glenn drops Dimitri a winks on his way out. "Counting on you for hazard control, Dimitri."

" _Die._ "

The three of them eat on trays in the living room, where Felix has found yet another soccer game to put on. "I admit it," Glenn says generously, "I doubted your skills. I was wrong." Felix looks grumpily vindicated. "And to prove it? I'm happy to let you cook every night."

"Why are you like this," Felix says. "I have practice. Get Dimitri to do it."

Dimitri looks alarmed. "I, uh." 

"Where exactly are we going to see the results of this alleged practice?" Glenn wants to know. "I happen to remember the GMU schedule doesn't pick up until August."

Felix stabs a piece of broccoli. "Saturday at the community field. If you want."

Glenn looks at him. "Wait, really?"

"Please come," Dimitri says, like _he's_ the one related to Felix. "We'll all be there."

"Not all," Felix says. "Sylvain said he's coming. Ashe might, too."

"Were you planning on telling me if I hadn't brought it up?" Glenn demands.

"I did. I think." Felix shrugs. "It's summer league. It's not going to be Serie A or anything."

Glenn played in the summer league a couple times when he was college. It's fucking vicious. "Well. Sounds like a good excuse to drink and embarrass you. Can't wait."

"Ugh," Felix says. 

Saturday dawns sunny and perfect. Felix's loved ones fill a couple thermoses with vodka and lemonade and stretch out on blankets by the side of the community field.

Summer league hasn't changed. It's brutal. At least half of the players are college athletes like Felix, with some rabbity-fast high schoolers and Exercise Dads and former soccer bros (male and female) working in finance thrown in the mix. Glenn doesn't think he's too biased when he says that Felix is definitely the best player on the field.

"Head and shoulders," Sylvain says absently. He's watching the game, shading his eyes with one hand. "That redhead is pretty good, but none of the rest are serious competition. [That's it, Felix, take her fucking ankles out!](https://twitter.com/eatmeout_gege/status/1276692756002484224)"

As Glenn remembers it, Sylvain ran track with obnoxious ease because it was something to do and didn't really give a shit about sports. "Didn't know you were a soccer fan," he says.

Sylvain cracks a smile. "I've watched a few games."

"We drove to Madison to see Felix in the national tournament last year," Dimitri says. "Quite an adventure."

"Ha! Yeah, especially when we got that flat in, like, a cornfield. In fucking... Indiana or wherever."

"I believe it was Illinois."

"And we didn't have a jack, because we didn't know what the hell we were doing, so after a couple hours waiting for Triple A, you and Dedue just _lifted the whole car up._ Wait, Glenn, you've gotta see this." Sylvain swipes through his camera roll and displays his phone to Glenn.

"Holy shit," Glenn says. Dimitri looks a little embarrassed. 

They watch as Felix's team scores and the goal is waved off. Felix gets up in the ref's face and receives what appears to be a stern warning.

"Too bad GMU didn't go all the way," Glenn says. "I was going to fly out if they made the final."

"It was worth it," Sylvain says. "Anyway, that game was rigged. Kinda like this one. Hey! Hey ref!"

"Sylvain—"

" _Do your knees hurt from blowing the game so hard?_ "

Sylvain is an absolutely filthy trash talker. He and one of the guys rooting for the other team get into it, trading shit-eating grins and cracking up over their own lines. Their little party clearly isn't the only one to have gotten creative with the refreshments. 

Reffing aside, the game ends 5-2, a healthy margin of victory. Felix trudges over to them, trickling water from a bottle down over his head, towel hanging around his neck. He looks content, the way he always does after a good game.

"Hey," Sylvain says, "sweet hat trick." He ignores Felix's sweat-soaked jersey and wet hair and wraps an arm around Felix in a sideways hug. His thumb brushes Felix's waist. Felix doesn't try to escape. Felix—Glenn is almost certain—leans into it.

Glenn feels his eyebrows climb halfway up his forehead. 

Sylvain's the outlier in that little quartet, closer in age to Glenn than to Felix and his friends. Glenn had never quite gotten along with him growing up, though. He's self-aware enough now that he can recognize the nasty truth, which is that somewhere deep down he'd been aware that when Sylvain was around he was no longer the smartest guy in the room. It was entirely possible that Sylvain himself neither noticed nor cared.

From what Glenn hears, though, the last few years haven't been easy on him. Everyone in the neighborhood knows about Miklan, and it's been all downhill from there. Felix had been close-mouthed on that one, too, looking mutinous and angry when Sylvain's name came up, muttering under his breath and refusing to explain why, until it came pouring out all at once one long weekend last year. 

Sylvain wasn't going to meet graduation requirements, not because he couldn't but because he wouldn't. Sylvain's parents had told him to shape up or lose both tuition and allowance. Fine, Sylvain said, who needed their fucking money, he'd drop out. Drop off the face of the earth, if he didn't give himself alcohol poisoning first. He kept talking like he was going to disappear where no one could find him. Fine, if he needed to go "find himself", but what about his friends. Some people worried about him, for whatever inexplicable reason. Maybe he should think about that next time he tried to throw himself under the bus. If Sylvain tried to shake them off for good Felix would drag him back kicking and screaming himself.

Sylvain did not, in the end, drop off the face of the earth to find himself. Sylvain cut contact with his parents, finished his extra semester on a combination of work-study and last-minute grants from the political science department, and was now, as far as Glenn could tell, supporting himself completely for the first time in his life by bartending and working the floor at a venue on the Lower East Side.

So maybe it's not that surprising, at least on Felix's side. One more thing for Glenn to bide his time over. He _will_ get answers eventually.

Sylvain's already let go of Felix anyway. "I'm craving Abby's," he says. "You all in?"

Felix slants a glance at him. "Don't you have work?"

"Didn't I say? Schedule changed, I'm off Saturdays."

"You were off Friday last week."

"Somebody did me a favor, that's all. Don't know how long this will last. Easy to get kids who want to catch free gigs on weekends, I guess."

Felix opens his mouth. Dimitri says, with just the slightest bit of impatience, "Perhaps we can talk about Sylvain's schedule over lunch." 

Sylvain slaps him on the shoulder. "Hungry? Yeah, okay, let's go. Glenn, you in?"

"Sure," Glenn says. "Felix, you drove? I've got Dad's car, I'll meet you all there."

Glenn beats the clown car to the diner and observes the way they fill out the table once they arrive. Dimitri slides in next to him. Glenn keeps a close eye on Felix and Sylvain opposite throughout lunch, but nothing. Maybe he imagined it.

They split the bill four ways. "Cool if I hang out for a while?" Sylvain asks.

"Sure. Whatever." A barely perceptible pause before Felix looks across the table. "Dimitri? You coming over?"

He didn't fucking imagine it. 

"I'm afraid I have commitments today." Dimitri looks at Glenn. "Could I possibly..."

"Say no more." And never say Glenn didn't do anything for his little brother. Enjoy those twenty minutes, Felix.

 _So what's the deal with my brother and Sylvain_ , is what jumps to the tip of Glenn's tongue as soon as Dimitri slides into the passenger seat. He keeps it shut and pulls out onto the main road. It may have been six years, but after shuttling Felix to and from Dimitri's all through their freshman year, he could probably navigate in his sleep.

After a minute, Dimitri clears his throat. "Actually, ah, I no longer live on the west side."

"Oh," Glenn says. "Shit. Sorry, I should have asked."

"No, it's— My uncle sold the house. A few years ago." He gives Glenn a new address to punch into his dash-mounted phone. "I'm afraid it's a bit out of your way."

"It's no problem." Glenn executes a neat U-turn at the next intersection and ignores the honks. "Felix said you're working at the foundation this summer."

"Yes."

Okay, that's a non-starter. "Not interning? You're doing... remind me." 

"Government." Pause. "And economics."

He bites back the obvious question, which is the same one every single person alive must ask Dimitri. "Aha, the illustrious double major. Very impressive."

Dimitri slides a glance at him. "You were a double major."

"You got me," Glenn says cheerfully. "We're both very impressive people."

He's watching Dimitri out of the corner of his eye. Finally, a smile. "However, I'm not an athlete, as well."

"Aren't you on the swim team?"

"I stepped back this year to focus on classes. I can only admire those who succeed at both athletics and academics."

That sounds meaningful. Glenn pauses. "Felix _is_ going to graduate, right?"

Felix is majoring in statistics, unless he switched again. Glenn has trouble keeping up; Felix doesn't talk about his classes a lot. Mostly Glenn remembers the semester Felix took a welding class and came home glowing with enough enthusiasm that their dad started to get worried about his career path.

Dimitri sounds amused. "I don't believe he's in trouble. Ah, left here. Yes, this one."

The house is—wow. Glenn's no architecture expert but he's fairly certain he's not missing any hidden beauty here. In a neighborhood with its fair share of McMansions, this monstrosity is in a class of its own. "Wow," he says, aloud, then bites his tongue, hard.

Dimitri is somehow managing to untangle the seatbelt and unfold himself from the seat without making eye contact. Impressive achievement when no part of the car was built to accommodate someone his size. "Well," he says to the glovebox. "Thank you for the ride."

Glenn rests a forearm on the headrest and leans forward, trying to catch his eye. "Hey. Dimitri. You know you're welcome at our place any time, right?"

He wins. Dimitri's blue eyes finally meet his. His lips tilt a little, not quite a smile. "Yes," he says. "I do."

Glenn stops at a Starbucks drive-through on the way home and checks his watch when he pulls into his own driveway. Closer to forty minutes. You're welcome, Felix. He lets the door bang shut, loudly, and takes his current book out to the back porch. 

A chapter into _Human Rights in the Age of Platforms_ , his phone buzzes. New text.

 **Dad**  
_Hi Glenn I hope you're enjoying the weekend. :) Is it a good time to call? Pls let me know. –Dad_  
Sent: 3:05 PM

Glenn blows out a long breath and types _go for it_. His phone rings a second later.

"Hey, Dad."

"Glenn! It's so good to hear your voice." Glenn has to hand it to his father: the one thing he's never doubted is that Rodrigue genuinely loves them.

"You, too. How's London?"

"London?" You'd think he'd never heard of the place. "It's a nice city, I suppose, but it's really the people I've met—" He checks himself. "No, I'm not going to be sidetracked. Tell me about your summer position. It's been how long? Two weeks?"

"Yeah, good memory, just wrapped the second week. It's good, you know it's a small firm, it's just me and one other guy so I'm getting plenty of work to do."

"And how is Counselor Rubens?"

Glenn coughs. "Well, you know, she's very... she doesn't miss anything. She's, uh, a great lawyer."

His father chuckles. "She's a tough one."

"You have no idea," he says fervently. "We've got a case going to trial next month and honestly? Not sure I'm going to make it that long."

"That's fantastic, Glenn," his father says, voice warm. "It might be a trial by fire, but after working with Cassandra you'll come out of there ready for anything district court can throw at you," 

Glenn rubs his face. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, for sure. By the way, went to Felix's game this morning, it was a good time."

"Oh?" Dad sounds confused. "Does GMU play friendlies?"

"Nah, it's a local league. Felix is way above their level, but you know how he is. Gotta be out there."

"Is he there? I'd like to say hello."

Whoops. "Uh, one of his friends is over, want me to get him?" Please say no.

"No, no, that's fine, I'll text him." Thank god. "Tell me more about what you've been doing."

Glenn turns the conversation around and gets his father to tell him a few stories about the ridiculous people he's meeting in London, then hangs up and places his open book over his face. After two minutes he picks it up and goes back to reading. He keeps at it until it's too dark to see the page.

* * *

 **Annette (GMU)**  
_Hi Glenn it's Annette!! 😊  
Thank you so much for offering to talk about law school stuff with me!! I really appreciate it 🙇_  
Sent: 9:15 PM

 _hey buddy  
no problem  
i'm guessing you're not looking for tips about rankings and admissions and shit  
you strike me as the type of girl who does her research_  
Sent: 9:18 PM

 _You got me  
I LOVE research 🥰_  
Sent: 9:19 PM

 _so what can i tell you that the internet can't_  
Sent: 9:19 PM

 _Hmmm I think the thing is, is it really as interesting as it looks like from the outside  
Like Im majoring in chemistry and I love science but I dont want to live under a fume hood for the rest of my life  
Idk  
Like, I like the idea of researching and making connections and using my brain to solve problems? But then being able to use what I learn to help people?  
So I guess, would it be like that or am I way off base  
Sorry if this sounds really silly 😭_  
Sent: 9:23 PM

 _no i get exactly what you're talking about_  
Sent: 9:25 PM

 _you're not way off base. in theory. there are people out there doing what you're talking about.  
the thing is_  
Sent: 9:29 PM

 _ok so i think the most important thing for you to be aware of is how easy it is for law school to rewire your brain  
you can go in with tons of ideas about the good you're going to do and come out genuinely convinced that your corporate counsel job will benefit the greater good  
like the lobster analogy, right? you don't realize what's happening until it's happened  
if you want to do like social justice work you have to keep your goals in mind constantly or you'll find yourself locked in a track you didn't necessarily plan on  
it's a pretty common thing  
i've seen it happen a lot_  
Sent: 9:45 PM

 _Ooh  
Yeah I can see how that happens_  
Sent: 9:47 PM

 _sorry, not to be a downer  
tbh for all i know it's the same in med school or academia  
anyway, long story short, there's a lot of work to be done and they need good people to do it  
but it takes a lot of willpower to get yourself there  
hope that helps fwiw :/_  
Sent: 9:51 PM

 _It does  
Thanks Glenn :)))_  
Sent: 9:52 PM

 _no prob  
lmk what you end up deciding whenever it comes around  
now i'm invested_  
Sent: 9:53 PM

 _🙌🙌🙌  
I will!!_  
Sent: 9:53 PM

* * *

All this vigorous athleticism is getting to Glenn. Either he starts getting in exercise now or he accepts that he's going to be slinking out of any kind of physical exertion in front of his little brother and friends for the rest of the summer, which is just embarrassing. The next Saturday he sets an early alarm and hits the pavement, yawning, in the early morning sunlight. Felix is long gone. Good.

He'd started out the year in a good place, running on the weekends and working out at the school gym after class. Somewhere around March, feeling the pressure of exams and churning out associate apps, it all fell apart. Now he's breathing hard in under a mile, sweat beading on his neck in the summer humidity. He pushes through. He used to run five miles every morning, for Christ's sake.

He reaches the sprawling park that marks the unofficial boundary between residential enclave and historic town center. He's hitting his stride now, that clear-eyed rush carrying him forward, breathless. He gulps in the fresh air and passes joggers, runners, a group on the grass doing tai chi. 

He's rounding the bend past the Civil War memorial when he realizes the runner pulling up behind him isn't passing. He glances to the side. It's Dimitri, coasting along in a GMU t-shirt, ugh, and running shoes. Dimitri gives Glenn a nod. They fall into pace without speaking. 

It's a good pace, challenging but not punishing. The perimeter loop is a couple miles long; Glenn was going to do it twice. They hit the trail intersection and he gathers enough breath to say, "One more?"

Dimitri nods. Then he glances sidelong at Glenn, and... speeds up, just a little.

Does he think Glenn's just going to stand there and take it? Glenn pulls even, then ahead. Game fucking on, Blaiddyd.

By the time they reach the home stretch, memorial in sight again, Glenn is dying. He did this to himself and he's going to pay for it. They slow to a stop in front of the memorial and Glenn collapses into a cooldown stretch, trying without success to regulate his heaving gulps for air as he leans forward on his hamstrings. Sweat plasters Glenn's shirt to his torso, his hair to the back of his neck. His only consolation is that Dimitri looks winded too, hands braced on his thighs and shirt molded to his incredibly broad back. Cool. Great. Really did yourself a favor there, Fraldarius. 

Glenn stops ogling and focuses on leaning into his quad stretch.

After a few minutes, he's got enough breath back to say, "So, is this what it's like with you and Felix every morning?"

Dimitri stands up and bends one arm over his head with the other. A smile turns up his mouth. "We've come to an agreement that racing is not the most beneficial activity for our respective workout goals." A pause. "Most of the time."

Glenn laughs, still a little breathless. "Shocked Felix agreed. Guess it's not much of a competition, anyway."

"Indeed," Dimitri agrees. "Felix is a much better distance runner than I."

"Is he?" Glenn eyes Dimitri and tries not to make it too obvious. "Sounds fake. Where is he, anyway? I assumed you guys would be long gone by the time I got out here."

Dimitri frowns. "Felix? He texted me that he wouldn't be able to make it today."

"Huh. Guess he wanted to sleep? That doesn't sound like Felix." Probably made himself sick. Glenn makes a mental note to stop at CVS on the way home.

"In any case, I'm glad I happened to see you," Dimitri goes on. "I prefer to run with a partner."

"I feel you," Glenn says. He straightens up and rolls his shoulders out. "Want to hit Abby's? My treat."

Dimitri looks conflicted. "I couldn't let you—"

"No worries if you've got plans," Glenn interrupts, and Dimitri immediately folds. Heh.

Abby's Diner is as close as this town gets to a historical landmark. They get a booth by the window. Glenn orders eggs benedict and a pot of coffee. Then he sits back against the cracked vinyl and watches Dimitri put away an extra-large high protein and spinach omelet, toast, bacon, veggie hash, three of Abby's famous cinnamon doughnuts, a bowl of fruit salad, and three glasses of orange juice.

When he finally seems to be slowing down, Glenn says, fascinated, "I get the hesitation now."

Dimitri immediately looks apologetic. "I'm sorry, I can split—"

"Don't even think about it," Glenn says. "I'm paid for my grunt work. Get another order of bacon. Get the whole pig."

"I've had plenty, thank you," Dimitri says primly, which makes Glenn crack up.

"Sure, of course, my bad." He leans back and crosses his arms behind his head. "You know what this reminds me of?" Dimitri's face is puzzled. "The NMUN-NY conference in high school. Remember that?"

A pained look crosses Dimitri's face. "Are we really going to talk about this?"

"We sure are." Glenn should rein in his grin, or not. "Remember how you and Felix got drunk for the first time in your lives and you showed up at my hotel room panicking at three in the morning because Felix was puking and you thought he might have alcohol poisoning after—what was it? Two beers?"

Dimitri buries his face in his hands. " _Glenn._ "

"Really a shame Felix didn't stick with it," Glenn says. "We could have so many more of these heartwarming stories." Felix had been in Model UN for exactly one year, before he quit because, allegedly, he wanted to go out for track in the off season. Glenn suspects any sport would have worked as an excuse. He tried, bless him.

Dimitri gets a funny look on his face, and Glenn belatedly remembers that for at least two of those years Felix and Dimitri hadn't been talking. Oops.

Or wait. On the other hand—maybe this is the opening.

"Hey," he says. "By the way. If you don't mind me asking... What exactly happened with you guys back in high school?"

Dimitri looks genuinely taken aback and Glenn abruptly and immediately feels like a massive asshole.

"You know what, don't even answer that. Forget I asked."

"No, it's—I was surprised because." Dimitri clears his throat. "I assumed Felix would have told you."

Glenn snorts. "Felix? Talk about his feelings?

"Well," Dimitri says, which isn't a denial. "I thought maybe if it were you."

"Aw man," Glenn says, half surprised and half flattered. "I'm touched, but also, no way."

Dimitri offers him a brief smile. Just when Glenn thinks they're going to gracefully drop it, Dimitri says, "Do you remember the Wester case?"

Does he ever. Even though he was off to college already, the Wester case—the FHS teacher who'd fudged his own students' test scores and set up his colleague to take the fall—rocked their upper middle class enclave from top to bottom. At a school like theirs, a "public" school bursting with top-notch facilities and lavish extracurriculars and Ivy League acceptances, this was roughly equivalent to setting the Met on fire. The polarization that ensued wasn't so much between those who believed it and those who didn't as between those who were bitter _their_ kids didn't get inflated scores and those who just wished he hadn't gotten caught.

"We had him for European history," Dimitri says. "Felix and I. He was a good teacher, but he had some… odd habits. The FBI interviewed all his students. They told us we should feel comfortable sharing anything we thought was relevant, so—" Dimitri takes a deep breath. "I didn't care about the scores, or who got them, or who didn't. I—it was the other teacher. The one he tried to blame. If he hadn't been caught— That was unforgivable."

All of sudden Glenn understands exactly what's going here. Shit.

"I wanted to destroy him." Dimitri's voice—there's no past tense there. "It wasn't about justice. It was about..."

 _Revenge_ is the right word, but not for the right person. Glenn doesn't need Dimitri to put the pieces together. Glenn was fourteen, so Dimitri would have been eleven when Lambert Blaiddyd resigned from office amid a corruption scandal, trading visas for cash and business favors. Turned out he'd been set up, which didn't undo the harm done in his name. He'd died the next year, before the judgement had been vacated.

Glenn blows out a long breath. He can see exactly how this went down for a pair of sixteen-year-olds with different and complementary sets of baggage. "Felix cares a lot about fairness," Glenn says.

Dimitri nods. He's looking at his hands, folded neatly in his lap. "He does. He told me I needed to back off and I told him that he was no different than the people who'd looked away and let Arundel ruin my father and, well." Dimitri's mouth twists. "It went downhill from there."

"Yeah," Glenn says. "I can see that."

"After that, I was a little..." Dimitri pauses and then says carefully, "Obsessed. I spent a lot of time talking to other students and teachers, and lawyers. I didn't go to counseling. I didn't have time for my... for other people."

He stops and clears his throat. It sounds dry. Glenn pushes his water glass across the table; Dimitri drains half of it in one go. Glenn catches the server's eye for a refill. "Did you testify? I know a lot of FHS kids did."

"I was going to." Dimitri folds his napkin neatly in half and places the water glass on it. He's not looking at Glenn. "That was when I realized. I was watching other students speak about college applications and self-esteem, and _cry_ over it and—I just hadn't cared at all. And I still didn't. It was... it wasn't a grand crusade. Just a pathetic revenge fantasy. About a pathetic person." His laugh is short and self-directed. "I'm not sure why I didn't understand that before."

All Glenn can think is how miserable it must have been, to be trapped in your own head, fixated on a single small-town trial as a substitute for all the deep, old hurt of a wound you'd never be able to fully close.

"It took some time to rebuild things with my—my friends," Dimitri is saying, quietly. "I'm very grateful they were willing to give me the chance."

Glenn exhales. "Well, don't beat yourself up about it too much. I'm sure my little brother was typically sensitive and understanding when you guys had it out."

"It was really my—"

Glenn cuts him off. "I'm not saying it's not. Just, you were both sixteen, and no one knows how to pull their punches at sixteen. Try to give yourself a break. And—" He grimaces. "I'm sorry I made you drag all that back up. That was shitty."

"No, I'm glad I could tell you," Dimitri says. The earnestness is back. That's probably a good sign. "I thought you must have known all along."

"I think Dad did but..." A slightly ashamed expression crosses Dimitri's face. "What?"

Dimitri looks down at the table. "I, ah, asked him to put himself on the prosecution."

"You—oh man." Glenn can't help a laugh. "God, just imagine that. Some random grifter's discount lawyer versus the former US Attorney for Manhattan."

Dimitri smiles, too, a little self-consciously. "It was perhaps a little overkill."

"I think Dad knew where you were coming from, you know," Glenn says, thinking back to what he remembered of those visits home. "Even if he didn't know what to do about it."

"Your whole family has always been very kind to me," Dimitri says. Sincerity radiates from every inch of him.

Glenn shrugs. "You're worth it." Well, that sounds weird. To cover, he signals for the check.

Outside, the full heat of a sticky summer morning bears down. Dimitri says, "Thank you for the run. And for breakfast. Next time it will be my treat."

"Next time, huh?"

"Please join us any day you'd like," Dimitri says. "Or me, any time Felix is—busy."

"I just might," Glenn says. "Hey, look. This is going to sound weird, but." He sticks his hands in his pockets. "I'm glad you guys worked it out. It's good that Felix has you. I mean it."

Dimitri looks like he's struggling how to respond. Glenn cuts it off. "That's not open for debate, by the way. That's a legal expert _and_ your delegate chair speaking."

Dimitri's brow is furrowed but a small and unwilling smile emerges at that. "If you insist."

"Good. I do. See you around, Dimitri."

"Have a good day, Glenn."

Glenn jogs home slowly. He must look and smell disgusting. Well, whatever. The remnants of the endorphin high are still kicking around, and on top of that, he finally got critical intel.

God, it sucks to be a teenager at the best of times. He can't imagine what it must have been like to do it alone. No wonder Dimitri went off the rails for a while.

As Glenn remembers it, Lambert's brother and sister-in-law unveiled the memorial foundation dedicated to community justice a couple years after his death. It made a couple big grants and then disappeared under the radar. That's where Dimitri is working this summer. Glenn wonders if he wants to or feels like he has to.

When he gets home, Felix is slumped in one of the dining chairs eating a bowl of cereal. There are dark circles under his eyes.

Shit, he forgot about the pharmacy. "Hey, buddy," Glenn says. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." Felix looks him up and down. "Where have you been?"

"Went for a run. I was inspired by your sterling example." Glenn peels off his shirt—absolutely disgusting—and considers it for a minute. "Have you done any laundry at all since Dad left?" 

"No," Felix says, as expected.

"Get it down here in the next five minutes and I'll run it with mine."

"Ugh," Felix says, but immediately gets up. Only a fool would turn down that offer. For Glenn, conditioned to lugging his laundry down to the basement of his building every weekend, this is the height of luxury. He heaps a basket with machine-friendly washing and makes another pile of dry cleaning. He'll take it in on Monday. Probably.

Downstairs, Felix is holding an armful of clothes, basket-free. "Dump it in the washing machine," Glenn tells him. "I'm not touching that."

"Picky," Felix says, as he takes his pile into the laundry room.

Glenn follows. "I ran into Dimitri, by the way. He said you texted him to cancel. You sure you're okay?"

"I said I'm fine." Felix dumps his laundry in the machine. "I didn't get a lot of sleep."

Glenn puts his basket down and reaches out to press a hand against Felix's forehead. Felix bats it away and makes for the door. "I have a game this afternoon, I have to warm up."

"Sit it out if you're sick," Glenn yells after him. No response.

* * *

 **Dad**  
_Hi, Glenn, hope you're having a good week. :) Will you and Felix be free for a call this weekend? Nothing urgent, I'm just looking forward to hearing about your summer_  
Sent: 2:31 PM

 _Hey dad, good to hear from ya  
not sure when would be good, lemme check with felix, i'm guessing he has another game_  
Sent: 2:38 PM

 _All right, let me know!  
By the way, do you happen to know if Felix ever met with Arran from the commissioner's office?  
I thought that might be a good connection for him to make_  
Sent: 2:42 PM

 _uhhh no idea  
sorry  
as far as I know he could've met with the entire state government while I was at work haha_  
Sent: 2:45 PM

 _Haha of course :)  
Well enough of me distracting you from that work!  
Give Cassandra my best regards if you have a chance, although I understand that may not be feasible in your environment.  
Love you!_  
Sent: 2:47 PM

 _sure will do  
love ya_  
Sent: 2:59 PM

* * *

C. Rubens tears Glenn's draft apart and then tells him, "This is solid work." It might be the most satisfying praise he's received in two years studying law. He celebrates by leaving an hour early to avoid rush hour in the heat.

He wanders into the living room, where sure enough Felix is draped under the AC. "Hey, kid."

Felix jerks upright like he's been caught in the act of—something. As far as Glenn can tell there's nothing in the room but the old Xbox. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh, I live here." He makes a show out of looking around. "Why, counting on an empty house?"

"Shut up," Felix says, which isn't a no. 

Glenn takes a seat and props his feet on the coffee table, crossing them at the ankles. "FYI, Dad wants to know if you met with some guy he knows from NYSAC."

"No," Felix says, with total disdain. _Why would you even ask that._

"Hey, I'm just the messenger. Are you ignoring his texts again?"

"Is that any of your business?"

"Chill, I'm just asking. Also, since he gets on my case if you don't, it actually is my business."

"It really fucking isn't," Felix snaps.

Felix is prickly at the best of times, but this is a little much. "Dude, what's got you so pissy? Can't handle the heat or what?"

Felix huffs loudly through his nostrils. "Just—drop it. Whatever." He tromps out of the room, effect undercut by the _flip-flop, flip-flop_ of his slides.

It's too hot for the porch. Glenn makes himself a gin and tonic, cranks up the AC, and flops on the couch. For a while he just watches the ceiling fan revolve and thinks about work. After a while he switches on the TV. There's some dumb procedural on. He watches an episode and a half before the legal bullshit is no longer funny, just painful, and moves to fruitlessly flipping through the channels.

Footsteps down the stairs. Glenn doesn't register the lack of flipping and flopping at first. Felix's voice says, "Hey."

Glenn hooks an arm over the back of the sofa, pulls himself upright and congratulates himself on suppressing a double take. Felix is wearing dark jeans— _jeans_ —and a t-shirt that doesn't appear to have anything to with any school or soccer team he's ever been affiliated with. The slides have been replaced by running shoes. He looks almost human.

"I'm going over to Dimitri's," Felix says.

"Okay."

"I might stay over, I don't know. Don't stress if I'm back late."

"Sure." He can't resist. "Lookin' fancy."

Felix scowls. "I have to do laundry, okay?"

"Sure."

"Whatever. Bye." Felix retreats. The front door slams.

Glenn doesn't know who Felix thinks he's fooling. But Felix is a grown adult, or, well, a grown something and Glenn is his brother, not his babysitter.

As tempting as it is to text Dimitri and say, _Hey Felix's phone is dead can you tell him I'm going out_ , just for the satisfaction of getting the _??? Felix isn't here?_ reply, he doesn't. While Glenn is an asshole, he's not that much of an asshole. If Felix doesn't want people to know about whatever this thing with Sylvain is, Glenn's not going to go out of his way to expose him to his friends or force him to come up with some ridiculous story to cover himself.

Now, if he _chooses_ to come up with some ridiculous story to cover himself, that's different.

Glenn texts Felix _Lmk if you need a DD_ , just to make him sweat, then tabs over to Instagram.

The majority of his cohort are all over the city Big Law circuit; a slightly narrower slice of the pie are working or interning in DC. His feed is an endless stream of brunches in Brooklyn, happy hours on the Hill, selfies with justices and senators. Holst Goneril is doing an international peacekeeping fellowship in the Hague. Nice work if you can get it. Glenn opens the Lawyers Without Borders site, like he does every so often when he wants to feel sorry for himself, and closes it again. Too depressing.

For about two minutes, he considers taking advantage of a rare night alone. He's an objectively hot guy in his mid-twenties and his little brother is apparently getting more action than he is, which doesn't seem right. He's got Tinder. He could do something about it. 

Instead, he orders Thai delivery and digs out his old copy of Easterly. He falls asleep on the sofa, book propped open on his chest.

* * *

The heat's even worse. The LIRR is a sauna; Glenn arrives at Charon & Rubens dripping and disgusted. Today they've got a meeting with Rowe & Rowe, Gaspard senior's firm. C. Rubens takes one look at him and orders him to go shower in the building gym, so of course he doesn't even have a spare shirt on him, like some kind of amateur.

"I can lend you one," Randolph offers.

This is mortifying. He swallows it. "Thanks, Harvard."

Gwendal from Rowe & Rowe shows up thirty minutes early. "Leave him in the conference room," C. Rubens tells Glenn. "That prick can wait until I'm ready. Where's the CFO deposition?" 

Gwendal and C. Rubens yell at each other for sixty minutes straight while Glenn tries to take minutes. Gwendal's ready to throw Gaspard junior under the bus like the craven liability he is. C. Rubens thinks Gaspard senior, and by extension Gwendal, has information she doesn't, and she'll be damned if she lets two Viagra-sucking blowhards who think they're smarter than God fuck them all sideways. Gwendal knows Gaspard junior is paying a whore's ransom for her dubious counsel, but pardon his language, dressing up the backside of a pony doesn't make it more than a horse's ass. C. Rubens wouldn't know, as _she's_ never fucked one.

At the end of the meeting, Gwendal spears Glenn with a gimlet glare. "Hiring out of the cradle, I see."

Glenn gives the old man his best professional smile and a firm handshake. "No, no, I'm just Ms. Rubens' summer associate. Glenn Fraldarius. Pleasure to meet you."

"Fraldarius," Gwendal says, one bushy grey eyebrow hiking up his lined forehead.

"Yes, sir." 

He looks at C. Rubens. "Greasing the wheels early, eh?"

Glenn keeps the smile on his face. C. Rubens says pleasantly, "Go fuck yourself."

Gwendal barks with laughter and stumps out of the office. 

C. Rubens lets loose a string of epithets that vividly reminds Glenn she spent five years as a JA in the Marines.

"You're telling me," he mutters.

"Gets under your skin, doesn't it," C. Rubens says. Her eagle eyes are piercing. "The legacy."

There's not a lot to say to that. Glenn keeps his lips pressed together. She arches a meaningful brow at him. "Word of advice: learn to hide it." 

She unclips a sheaf of papers and begins to spread them across the conference table. "All right. Let's go over what we've got."

What they've got isn't a lot more than they had before. The second draft of Glenn's brief escapes with mild evisceration. Cassandra calls in Seteth Cichol to discuss arguments. Glenn stays past five, until he's ordered to go. He leaves them discussing what kind of ambush Gwendal and Lonato Gaspard are planning for trial.

He only remembers Felix's poorly disguised booty call when he checks his texts for the first time in hours and sees a reply to his message from last night. _Sry just saw this. We were fine._

He's half-heartedly debating how to best pull off the dramatic reveal as he pulls into the driveway. Inside, he finds Felix slumped in the armchair, texting. An athletic redhead with an undercut lies on the floor tossing a soccer ball in the air over and over. 

"Leonie's AC is broken." Felix's fingers fly, tap tap tap. "Annette might come over later."

"Great," Glenn says. "Invite Sylvain, too. We'll have the highest count of redheads per capita on Long Island."

Felix doesn't dignify that with a response. The redhead laughs, though. Glenn thinks she looks vaguely familiar. "Have I met you before? Sorry."

"Nope," she says cheerfully. "My name's Leonie."

Felix removes himself from his phone long enough to say, longsuffering, "I played her a couple weeks ago. You came to the game." 

Right, the only decent competition. "Yeah, okay, I remember you. You don't go to GMU, do you?"

"Leicester College." D-III, Glenn thinks. "Thought about GMU but they're not investing enough in their women's program. I ran into Felix at the gym a few weeks ago, we're workout buddies now."

The thought of Felix with any kind of buddy is adorable. "Well, hey, you cracked the code. Intense physical competition is the only way to Felix's heart."

"Honestly?" Leonie says to Glenn, confidingly. "I thought I'd hate him. But he's pretty chill."

"Shut up," Felix says, without heat.

Leonie sets the ball like it's a volleyball, directly at Felix's head. He just barely dodges. "Come on. I've been hearing about our very own hometown star Felix Fraldarius every summer for the last five years. It's exhausting."

"Whatever," Felix mutters. Tap tap tap. So much for those SAT prep classes Glenn knows Dad made him take. That vocabulary's shameful.

"Okay, well, I'm hungry," Glenn says. "You want to stick around and eat, Leonie? I'm going to make curry chicken," which is not a lie just because the chicken came roasted and the curry in a tub from North Shore Farms.

Leonie jumps to her feet. "I should get going. Thanks, though. See ya, Felix."

Glenn does the cooking and Felix washes the trays, which have been languishing stickily since the night before. After minimal squabbling they settle on a Yankees game, even though Glenn knows Felix hates baseball. Sure enough, after a single inning he's already restless.

"Dorothea has a show in town on Friday," Felix says, eyes on the screen, as the Twins' leadoff hitter fouls for the third time on a 3-2 count.

"Dorothea," Glenn says. That sounds familiar.

Felix rolls his eyes. "Ingrid's girlfriend."

Right. The hot indie songstress. "I remember."

Felix spares him a single look of skepticism. "They're going to stay for the weekend so some people might come over later."

"Uh huh." Maybe he'll make himself scarce this time.

The batter finally flies out to center field. Three outs, Yankees at bat.

"Hey. By the way." Felix actually puts his fork down and turns to Glenn, instead of the TV. "Is it cool if Dedue stays here for a few days."

Glenn blinks. Dedue, that's the big car-lifting guy who lives in Alaska. No, Canada. "Is he in trouble?"

Felix stares at him. "What. No. He's coming to visit Dimitri for a week."

"He's visiting Dimitri and... he wants to stay with us?"

Felix levels him with a look. "Would you want to stay with Dimitri's uncle?"

"Right. Fair." Glenn thinks it through for about half a second. "Uh, sure. Don't see why not."

"Cool." Felix goes back to eating in single-minded silence.

"Are they really not dating?"

"Who?"

"Your friend and Dimitri."

"Why would you ask that."

Glenn shrugs. "I dunno. Dimitri seemed pretty bashful when it came up."

"Bashful," Felix repeats. He wrinkles his nose. "Guess they could be. I doubt it."

Glenn would love to ask why, but he's not that reckless. As if to bear him out, Felix asks, "Why do you care?"

"Because I live to harass you." Felix kicks him half-heartedly. Glenn flicks a cluster of rice grains at him. It lands on his cheek. Felix looks outraged for one frozen moment, then picks up his spoon with murderous intent. Ten minutes later, there's curry stains in the carpet, Glenn's shirt is ruined and his shin is bruised, and Felix's probably wrenched a shoulder. Another peaceful evening in the Fraldarius household.

Randolph stops by Glenn's desk on his way out to lunch the next day. "So my friend's firm is throwing a mixer for their summers this weekend, guests welcome. Any interest?"

"Uh, when exactly?" Glenn asks, feigning thought.

"This Friday. 7 PM to..." Randolph shrugs.

Glenn, already shaping the right lines for a smooth excuse, stops. "You said Friday?"

"That's right. At Chelsea Piers." Randolph smiles encouragingly. "What do you say?"

"Yeah," Glenn says, "you know what? I'm in."

* * *

Friday Glenn dresses to impress. Slim shirt, narrow tie, narrow-cut trousers that border on work-inappropriate. When he strolls into the office, Randolph does a double-take, then grins. "Someone's ready to go."

"You bet I am." Just because Glenn's had a quiet summer so far—okay, a quiet year, or two—doesn't mean he doesn't know how to dial it back up.

"Ah, summers," says Bronwen the junior associate, sounding both condescending and envious. "Those were the days."

"'The days' were last year," Cassandra says, as she sweeps into the office. "Fraldarius, get in here."

"Yes, ma'am," Glenn says as he hustles after her. Randolph mimes a whip cracking.

Glenn's got to hand it to Big Law, they're not afraid to shell out. Thousands of tiny lights illuminate the deck. A soft electro beat soundtracks the summer night. The catering looks better than anything Glenn has eaten all summer. Servers circulate with champagne; the greeter informs them it's an open bar. In the middle of it all mingle roughly three hundred young, hot associates, dressed to kill. Glenn absolutely made the right decision.

Randolph introduces Glenn to his friends, an intense blonde and a red-haired guy with You Know Where stamped all over them. They seem all right. The blonde mostly wants to talk about SCOTUS; the redhead spent a semester in London and has a lot of thoughts about the noble British legal tradition. After a while, Glenn leaves them to catch up on the gossip from Cambridge.

He runs into a couple kids from his cohort, no one he's close with. Glenn, where have you been hiding, we haven't seen you all summer. No luxuries at small firms, I've got an actual case load, sorry to say. Ha, of course they're putting you out there, bet opposing counsel will piss themselves to hear there's a Fraldarius at the bar. He gets himself out of that one as quickly as possible and detours by the open bar.

It's getting later. A pleasant buzz has descended on Glenn. The party's been going for a couple hours, just long enough for the more uninhibited among them to get going. Here and there Glenn sees guys who are clearly senior associates or partners trying to put the moves on targets much younger. Typical but gross. Another guy is standing on a chair and slowly unbuttoning his shirt, to general cheers. There's a cluster of people at the railing. One of them is holding an orange life ring. They're calling to—

"Is that girl _swimming?_ " Glenn says aloud.

"She's going to get MRSA," says the person next to him. 

It's Randolph's blonde friend. The redhead is next to her. Randolph is nowhere in sight. Together they watch the group coax the girl into taking the life ring.

"Odds this goes viral tomorrow?" the blonde murmurs.

Glenn leans against the railing and loosens his tie. "Not worth taking."

Three flutes of champagne later, the redhead is flushed and two tones louder, gestures swooping through the air and threatening to splash Glenn with champagne. He's talking about the Animal Welfare Act, which is both unexpected and cute. 

He's pretty tall—an inch or two taller than Glenn—and in great shape. That long red hair catches the lights of the deck just right.

"—therefore it must be the _duty_ of the owner to—to—" He frowns. "I can't remember where I was going with that."

"I got the message," Glenn says. Which isn't even a lie, the message was very clearly _Horses good, law help._ "I think you have a point. For sure."

The redhead beams. "Really? We should exchange numbers! Or perhaps I could add you on Facebook."

"Ferdinand," his friend says, a clear warning.

He's already scribbling something on a piece of paper for Glenn. "Please, get in touch," the redhead says earnestly. There's something about that. The earnestness. "We must talk more."

Glenn gives him a long look. "Yeah? You busy now?"

The redhead flushes. Pretty.

" _Ferdinand_ ," the girl hisses. 

Glenn winks at her. "It's an open invitation."

"Thank you. But no thank you." She wraps a hand around Ferdinand's wrist and pulls him away.

Too bad. It wasn't quite what he had in mind, but it would have gone over nice. Both or either. God, it's been a long time. 

It's getting late; the crowd is starting to thin out, headed for the next bar or club. Glenn meanders along the deck rail, putting a little distance between himself and the bulk of the remaining guests. Some way down there's a guy standing by himself, smoking a cigarette with an air of ironic detachment.

That's it. That's what he's looking for. The guy is tall, built under his shirtsleeves. Just right to nail Glenn into the mattress, which is, he realizes, what he is absolutely dying for.

Glenn doesn't have a pack on him; smoking is his infrequent vice, historically reserved for major necessities like finals or LSATs. Getting laid for the first time in weeks—months— definitely qualifies.

He strolls up to the guy, confident, friendly, and says, "Hey. Think you could spare me one?"

The guy looks him over. "Sure."

Promising. They smoke in agreeable silence for a couple minutes, looking out at the lights across the river. The guy turns around so he can rest both elbows on the railing, leaning back. It's a great pose, he knows exactly what works for him. Glenn doesn't bother to hide his appreciation. 

The guy says, "Surprised you don't have company."

"Got turned down. Can you believe it?"

The guy's gaze sweeps over him. "No," he says frankly.

Glenn grins.

They go back to the guy's apartment, a mere 10 minute cab ride away. He's not bad. Not, like, mind-blowing, but enough to hit the spot for Glenn. It feels good to stretch his muscles, to really strain for it, to push back against someone else's strength. They go a couple rounds, athletic enough that after it's over Glenn's eyes are heavy and he's struggling not to yawn. He gives himself a few minutes to lie there on the cool 300-count sheets, then makes himself get up.

"Stay if you want," the guy—Glenn definitely got his name at one point, what was it—mutters into his pillow.

Glenn buckles his belt. "I'm good. But thanks."

The guy acknowledges him with one hand and murmurs something indistinct into the pillow. Glenn makes sure the front door locks behind him.

What he wouldn't give to be able to go back to his place off Delancey. The subletter is a publishing intern, if he remembers right. Maybe she'd let him sleep on his own couch. Or maybe she'd call the cops.

He catches the 4:37 train from Penn, then an Uber from the station. In the back seat, he rests his head and closes his eyes. God, he can't wait to sleep. The sky is beginning to lighten, birds racketing their way around. The Uber drops him off at the edge of the driveway. Not for the first time, it occurs to him that their driveway is too fucking long.

He trudges up the front steps. The door opens in front of him.

"Glenn," Dimitri says blankly.

Dimitri's dressed for a run. He's standing one step up. Glenn is at eye level with his chest. With effort, he looks up. Dimitri looks faintly shell-shocked.

A slow and unpleasant awareness of his own appearance descends on Glenn.

He lost his tie hours ago. His shirt is rumpled, open at the collar. His hair must be totally wrecked. He's aware of a sore throb somewhere around his throat. He doesn't need a mirror to tell him what that means, or that he probably has dark circles under his eyes.

Glenn says, "I look like a mess, huh."

Dimitri rallies nobly. "No. I was just." He clears his throat. "Surprised."

Glenn laughs dryly. "I bet. You guys all crash here?" 

"Felix kindly allowed us all to return here after Dorothea's show. It was quite late." Dimitri glances back over his shoulder. "I hope you don't mind. Mercedes and Annette didn't quite have the capacity."

"Am I gonna see anything I shouldn't if I go in there?"

The corner of Dimitri's mouth quirks up. "No."

"Great. Then if you'll excuse me I'm going to go sleep for about a thousand years."

Dimitri hesitates. "Do you need anything?"

"Other than a time machine? No. But thanks." He pulls himself up the last step and manages not to actually run into Dimitri on his way in the door. "Have a good run."

"Thank you," Dimitri says, belatedly, behind him.

Glenn glances into the living room on the way up. Ashe is laid out on the rug, dead to the world. Ingrid and Dorothea are curled up in each other's arms on the sofa. No sign of Felix or his flavor of the summer. 

Not that Glenn has a lot of room to talk. Caught by his little brother's best friend doing the walk of shame. Not even that. The commute of shame. 

Fucking Long Island.

* * *

Glenn wakes up at two in the afternoon with a splitting headache. He stumbles into the shower, which helps a tiny bit. A fucking Advil would help even more, but there aren't any in the bathroom. He chances the stairs.

He can hear voices before he makes it all the way to the kitchen. Great. Well, Sylvain or whoever can just deal with him.

It's not Sylvain.

"Glenn," Dimitri says. "Hello."

"Hey," Glenn croaks. 

Felix's arms are crossed over his chest. "Wow."

"Tell me we have Advil around here somewhere."

"I don't know," Felix says, meanly. "What's it worth to you?"

"I have some," Dimitri volunteers.

Glenn and Felix swivel to look at him. "Really?" Felix says, disapproving, and " _Really?_ " Glenn breathes, pathetically.

Dimitri's lips twitch. "Please, help yourself." He hands over the goods. The bottle's practically unused. Thank god. Glenn pours himself a glass of water and knocks a couple back.

"You were just carrying that around," Felix says, as Glenn opens the fridge and immediately closes it again. Too soon. "Coincidentally."

Dimitri says, "I think it's important to be prepared."

"And thank god for that." Glenn chugs half a bottle of water and finally feels steadied enough to take stock of his surroundings. The cupboard doors are open and the counter is piled with groceries; this is apparently why Felix and Dimitri are here. He doesn't hear any other voices, for once. "Everyone head back already? Gautier, too?"

Felix starts. "What?"

Glenn waves a hand at the two of them, or tries to. It's pretty weak. "The Third Musketeer."

"Sylvain lives near the venue," Dimitri says helpfully. "He went home afterwards."

"Too bad," Glenn says. Felix looks spooked. Heh.

"He might be coming up tonight," Dimitri says. "Do you know, Felix?" 

"Yes," Felix says. When that's not clear enough: "He's coming."

"Excellent." Dimitri explains to Glenn, "We're having a barbecue."

Glenn makes a sound somewhere between a groan, a croak, and a pitiful whine. "You kids have fun." He's only been out of undergrad for two years. He's not even twenty-five. How the fuck has he already lost the magic.

"Suck it up, it won't be that bad," Felix says, at the same time Dimitri says, "We'll try not to disturb you." They look at each other.

"Glenn always does the grilling," Felix says, as if in explanation. Dimitri frowns.

"Sorry," Glenn interjects, "let me just get this straight, you're inviting all your friends over for a barbecue and you're planning to have me do the work? And you thought you'd mention this a couple hours before it starts?"

"You're not usually busy," Felix says, sounding disgruntled.

"Okay, one, that's rich coming from you, buddy, and two, is that really how you want to ask for favors?"

"We should have asked," Dimitri says, looking terribly apologetic. "I'm sure we can—"

"Stop doing that," Glenn says, covering his eyes. "Stop with the face."

"What face?" Dimitri says, sounding wounded. Felix snorts.

Glenn removes his hands and sighs. "Look, I'm not promising anything. But maybe, _maybe_ , if I feel less trashed in a couple hours, I'll give you a hand."

"See?" Felix says to Dimitri.

Glenn pulls down the shades and listens to his girl Taylor for a couple hours with his eyes closed. He's feeling slightly more human by the time Annette and Mercedes and their friend Ashe roll up, weighed down with even more grocery bags that seem to contain mostly vegan meat substitutes.

Felix and Dimitri are fiddling with the grill. Sylvain apparently arrived without Glenn noticing, which is not a surprise, and is watching them with a shit-eating grin and doing absolutely nothing to help. They're definitely going to blow themselves up. Glenn takes pity on them. "All right, all right, I'm here, move aside."

"You're not wearing the apron," Felix says. 

"Oh shit, you're right. Where—thanks, kid." Felix has it ready: The Apron, six-year-old Felix's Father's Day gift to a man who had occasioned no less than five visits from the fire department before Glenn was twelve. The design is supposed to be funny. It's mostly just horrifying. The thing is, therefore, a treasured Fraldarius heirloom. Glenn ties it on and turns to pose seductively for the audience.

"Holy Christ," says Sylvain.

"Oh my," says Ashe.

"Ah," says Dimitri, fondly. "I've missed that."

"And that makes you an honorary Fraldarius," Glenn says, and holds out a fist to Felix. "Right, Felix?"

Felix, miracle of miracles, bumps it with his own. "Yeah."

It takes him a while to get back in the swing of it, flop, sear, flip, char, but soon he's on fire, which is good because these kids are fucking wildebeests. He can't keep track of how much he's turning out because the minute anything comes off the grill it's greedily snatched away. Glenn casts an eye around the yard; no sign of his brother. Or Sylvain. Thanks, guys. Dimitri keeps him stocked with raw ingredients until Glenn tells him to go eat. _He's_ starting to get hungry, and he didn't even want to look at food for most of the day.

There's Sylvain, at last, ambling up. "I hear you're wiped out. You want a reliever?"

Every uncomplimentary thought he's ever had about Sylvain was wrong. "You know what," Glenn says, "I will absolutely take you up on that."

He hands over the spatula and mitts. Sylvain gestures to the apron. "Come on. I want the whole package."

It looks obnoxiously charming on him, because of course it does. Glenn leaves Sylvain to manipulate the sausages—heh—loads himself a plate of hamburger, coleslaw, watermelon, and grilled veggies, and wanders over to where Ingrid and her girlfriend are perched on the edge of the deck. He sinks into the grass at their feet.

"Okay, Ingrid," he says. "Let's talk ball."

He gets Ingrid to recount her season to him blow-by-blow, with the breathless annotation of her girlfriend. He knows she loves it, even—maybe especially—though she feels like she has to be modest.

"You're gonna clean up this year," Glenn predicts. "Those Seven Sisters bitches won't know what hit them."

"That's what I said!" Dorothea says, clasping one of Ingrid's hands between her own and shaking it enthusiastically.

"I hope so," Ingrid says, smiling down at their joined hands. "It's my last season. I'd like to go out on a good note."

"Got plans for after graduation yet?"

Ingrid bites her lip. "I'm looking into grad school. In public health. I'm just not sure where yet." Dorothea can't see the way Ingrid's eyes slide in her direction, but Glenn can. Aww.

"That's great," Glenn says, and means it. "They need people like you. People who get shit done."

Ingrid's cheeks go faintly pink. "Thanks, Glenn."

He turns to Dorothea. "Sorry I missed your show last night. I made some bad choices."

Dorothea gives him a sly smile. "Looks to me like you can afford them."

Glenn raises his eyebrows and grins. "Oh yeah?"

"Oh no," Ingrid groans.

The grill's been abandoned. Dimitri's eating what appears to be three hamburgers stacked on top of each other and listening to Annette explain something that involves a lot of handwaving. Sylvain has his head together with Mercedes; Felix has produced a ball from somewhere—of course—and is entertaining himself doing keep ups, seated, with just his knees. The ball rebounds at a slight angle and lightning fast he gets his shoulder under it, bringing it back under control. Sylvain and Mercedes applaud.

"I wish I had that kind of ball control," Ashe says enviously.

Felix shrugs. "You've got better aim than me."

"Deadeye Duran," Sylvain adds, slinging an arm over Ashe's shoulder.

Felix catches the ball in both hands and looks at Ashe. "Want to scrimmage?"

Ashe looks around the rest of the group, hesitant. "Um..."

Glenn leans back on his hands and says, "Is that an open invitation?"

He can actually see the fiery aura flare into being around Felix's silhouette. "Yes."

"Hm," Ingrid says, a gleam in her eye.

"I call Ashe," Glenn says immediately. Ashe squeaks, "Me?"

"Fine. I get Ingrid." Felix looks past Glenn. "Dimitri?"

"Well..." Dimitri says, trying to look diffident and not succeeding.

"All right, you're in." Glenn looks at Sylvain. "Gautier?"

"Are you kidding? I've got my front row seat right here." He's sitting between Dorothea and Mercedes, beatific. "I gotta see this."

It's Glenn, Ashe, and Dimitri versus Felix, Ingrid, and Annette. But really, it's Glenn versus Felix, with some other people somewhere in the periphery. Getting out there on the same field seems to make Felix lose about five years in five seconds. Unfortunately, he's not the only one.

Felix is fucking _fast_ , Jesus. Dorothea's barely whistled for kick off and Felix is taking off down the yard, ball skimming effortlessly ahead of him. Glenn lunges after him. His longer legs aren't helping. Dimitri looms out of nowhere, blocking Felix like a linebacker. "Foul!" Ingrid shouts, even as Glenn gets the ball, pivots, and almost trips over Annette, who is hacking determinedly at his feet. Felix is up again. He's got the ball and there's nothing anyone else can do about it. First goal.

Five minutes later Ashe delivers a beautiful pass to Glenn, who jinks around Ingrid and delivers it neatly into the bucket that is their goal. Mercedes cheers as Glenn double high fives Ashe right under Felix's scowl. Felix responds by stealing the ball right off his feet. Glenn tries to muscle him off it. Felix outmaneuvers him with embarrassing ease, then lets the ball go in favor of sideswiping Glenn's ankles just because he can. Ingrid takes it and scores.

By the end of the game, Dimitri has resorted to wrapping his arms around Felix and pinning him in place as he swears and scrabbles to get free, while Annette jumps in front of Glenn with both arms outstretched, a determined little roadblock, and Ashe gracefully dribbles past both of them until Ingrid slide tackles him. Felix—Felix's team, whatever—is still up by like five goals.

"Time!" Sylvain calls, barely comprehensible because he's laughing so hard. Dorothea is helpless, weeping, on his shoulder. "Time!"

The peanut gallery gets it together long enough to hand out drinks and make room. Glenn stretches out flat on the deck and chugs half a bottle of plain old water. "Ashe," he calls. "Tell Coach that Felix is skimping on his training. Get revenge for us."

Ashe laughs, a quiet, delightful sound. "Um. I can try."

"Don't listen to him, Ashe," Felix says immediately. "He's bitter because he lost." Glenn rolls his head to the side and considers Felix for a moment, then flings the rest of his water bottle at him. Felix makes a sound like a wet cat.

"That was refreshing," Dimitri says. He sounds immensely content. "It's been far too long since we last faced off against each other, Felix."

"Because you're a _disgusting cheater._ " 

"You know what I could really go for right now?" Ingrid's gazing dreamily at the sky. "Ice cream." 

"How is that different than any other minute."

"Ooh, me, too! Mercie?" 

"Why don't we try—what's the place you told us about, Sylvain?"

"Oh shit, yeah, the Creamery. You'll love it. Even Felix likes it, they've got this one flavor that's like half candied ginger."

"I never said I liked it, I said it was fine." General hoisting of bodies, scraping of deck chairs, a rusty creak from the grill. A cheery face pops into Glenn's field of vision. Annette says, "Glenn? Coming?"

Glenn pushes himself upright. "You guys have fun, I'm good. Leave the grill, I'll wipe it down." –to Ashe, who is approaching it with cloth in hand.

Annette makes a sad face at him. "Aw, really? Sure you don't want to come with us?"

The little zing of pleasure is as surprising as it is warming. "Aww, thanks, buddy. Yeah, I had a rough night last night, I'm gonna take it easy." 

She gives him an actual hug before they all leave. Glenn must look as disarmed as he feels, because Felix is smirking at him. He mouths, _Sucker._

Glenn waits until Annette's turned away, then catches Felix's eye. When he has Felix's attention, he taps a spot on the side of his own throat and makes a face. Felix slaps a hand against his neck, the most incriminating reaction imaginable, then turns bright red, yanks up the collar of his sweatshirt and turtles down into the hood. Glenn just wishes he could be there the moment Felix checks the mirror and realizes there's no mark.

Sure, he might be a sore loser, but that doesn't make it any less satisfying.

"Have a good time on Friday?" Randolph asks Glenn on Monday, with a smile that makes it clear he knows the answer.

"Yeah, I did, actually. Thanks for the invite, dude." His memory is itching, something to do with Randolph's friends. Unfortunately it's pretty fuzzy. "Uh, I didn't say anything weird to your friends, did I?"

Randolph looks cheerfully good-natured, as always. "If you did, they didn't mention it to me. I think Edelgard is dying to make you defend your pick for Breyer's seat, though."

Nice of Randolph to rescue from having to reveal he doesn't remember their names. What was the other one? Fernando? Ferguson? "Good," he says. "They were fun. I learned a lot about equine rights."

Randolph laughs at that. "You got the real von Aegir experience. I think there's at least half a chance that Ferdinand just goes into activism after all this." Ferdinand, that was it. Randolph goes on, "We're meeting for drinks later this week, actually. You're welcome to join, if you'd like."

Glenn thinks about it for a minute. Whatever else could be said about those two, and there's plenty, they were _interesting_. It's just possible that Randolph's a little more interesting than Glenn's given him credit for, too.

"Yeah," Glenn says. "I could go for that."

* * *

One week to trial. Cassandra and Seteth spend all day closeted in Cassandra's office as Glenn fetches and carries and runs search queries. He's starting to get a feel—not nervous, exactly. It's not like he's going to be up in front of the bench; he's going to be watching from the gallery like everyone else. Still. It would be nice if it's not an absolute shitshow. That's his work up there.

Home at last, he walks in the door and is hit by an absolutely mouthwatering smell. Warm, wholesome, slightly sweet. It reminds him of afternoon sunshine and soft cushions. How is that even possible?

Glenn follows his nose to the kitchen, dazed. Then he stops short because looming over the stove, red mitted hands in the process of removing a steaming pan from the oven, is the single largest, fittest man Glenn has ever seen.

"Oh my god," he says, and the titan, pan in hand, straightens up and turns toward him.

He'd completely forgotten about Felix and Dimitri's friend. Dedue. He's even more impressive in person. Six and half feet tall, chiseled features, built like a bulldozer. Unreal.

"Pardon my intrusion," he says in an incredibly deep voice—of course. "You must be Felix's brother. My name is Dedue. Thank you for your hospitality."

It's bread. He's holding a loaf of freshly baked bread. Glenn realizes he's gaping. 

"Did you _make_ that?"

Dedue looks down at the pan. "Yes. I hope you do not mind. You have a lovely kitchen."

Glenn draws in a deep breath. "Don't take this the wrong way," he says, dead serious. "But will you marry me?"

One long, slow blink. Glenn holds his gaze.

Dedue finally says, "While I appreciate your kind offer, I believe I'm not yet of sufficient maturity for a permanent commitment."

Glenn sighs. "Well, it was a worth a try. Great to meet you, I'm Glenn." Dedue rests the pan on the stove and removes the oven mitt to shake hands. "I assume Felix told you it's just him and me around here. He got you all settled?"

"Yes. He has shown me around the house." Dedue checks the watch—a real, actual watch—on his wrist. "I believe he is at soccer practice now."

Of course he is. It's the first day of his friend's visit, but okay. Hard on the heels of this thought, it occurs to Glenn that Dedue will need a place to sleep. Did Felix put him in the guest room? Does Felix remember they have a guest room?

A knock on the door. Dimitri's voice: "Felix?"

"Sorry," Glenn calls. "We had him traded for a bigger model."

Dimitri appears a second later, a wide smile on his face. "Dedue, my friend!" 

A matching smile, smaller but no less genuine, transforms Dedue into a completely different person. "Dimitri."

They meet for not the kind of masculine back-pounding that you might expect from two dudes their size but for a warm, genuine embrace. Glenn feels his heart grow two sizes just watching. 

Separated, Dimitri looks between them, clearly so pleased. "You've met Glenn." 

"I have. I was just remarking what a wonderful kitchen his family has."

Glenn looks around the kitchen. He never really thought about it one way or the other, but it is pretty big, he supposes. And his dad does love kitchen gadgets. The refrigerator/freezer is about the same size as Dedue, now that he looks at it. Huh.

"Yeah, it's, uh, a great space," he says. "And the tragic thing is, neither Felix or me are good enough at cooking to appreciate it. So, like, as long as you're here... Go wild."

Dedue looks sincerely gratified. "That is most kind of you."

"Selfless," Dimitri agrees, with a twinkle in his eye. Glenn winks at him. He can immediately see why Dedue and Dimitri are friends. Also, if they're dating he'll eat those oven mitts. 

Felix trudges in at seven, looking like he got run over by a tractor, overlaid with the low-level glow of satisfactory exercise. Glenn corners him in the hall. "Dude, your friend's visiting from _Canada._ You couldn't skip today?" 

Felix frowns. "I took the morning off to pick Dedue up."

Glenn blinks. "Off."

"From the clinic." When Glenn doesn't register understanding: "Over at Post. All week."

"Did I know that?"

Felix shrugs. "Dunno. It's just to stay busy." He sticks his head around the doorway and yells in the direction of the kitchen, "I'm back, I have to shower, hang on."

"Fine!" Dimitri calls. "Take your time, we're making dinner."

 _We?_ Glenn has to investigate this. 

It turns out that not only can Dedue bake, he can whip up an incredible meal from the remnants of their last haphazard raid on North Shore. Dimitri has been put to work tailing the green beans. Glenn, after intense negotiation, is allowed to toss the salad, _and_ to slice the bread. By the time Felix rejoins them, an Insta-ready spread adorns the dining table, which Dedue insisted on setting. Dad would cry if he could see them. Actually— Glenn pulls out his phone and takes a selfie of the table.

Glenn is his usual smarmy self. Felix, chipmunk cheeks already stuffed with food, looks like he thinks the camera is going to snatch his soul. Dedue looks like the serious, hardworking patriarch of a dysfunctional little family. Dimitri looks like he's in a magazine.

It tastes even better than it looks. "Seriously," Glenn says. "I could support you once I pass the bar. Cars? Caribbean vacations? Unlimited credit at Le Creuset? Just say the word."

Dedue's mouth quirks minisculely at this final item. Felix says, "Stop creeping on my friends."

"It's not creeping if I'm offering to put a ring on it," Glenn says, and drops the subject immediately.

When Glenn gets home from the work the next day, the house is overflowing with Felix's friends and there are two loaves of banana bread and a plate of dulce de leche cupcakes on the kitchen counter. Glenn is of course obligated to sample both.

Annette brightens at his appearance. "Glenn!" He's prepared this time when she hugs him around the middle. "I'm going to live here until Dedue leaves, okay? Okay!"

"Sure, you can have Felix's room. He'll sleep in the bathtub. _Jesus._ " The exclamation is for the cupcake. "Hope you're ready for an extended stay because Dedue's not leaving for a long time. I'm locking the doors."

Sylvain leans over the counter to snag a slice of banana bread. "I'll fight you for him."

The things Glenn could say. He generously goes for, "We've got room for you, too." 

"Oh yeah?" Sylvain grins. "Then I'm all set."

Yeah, Glenn just bets. He's a fucking saint for not dropping this in front of a dozen of Felix's friends. A vaguely familiar kid in glasses looks up from where he and Leonie the soccer player are hunched over a poster design. "Are you starting a commune? It sounds like you're starting a commune." 

Sylvain waggles his eyebrows. "Or a harem."

"Gross." Felix shoulders in next to Sylvain and eyes the banana bread. "How sweet is that."

"You'd like it," Sylvain says. "Here." 

Felix chews thoughtfully and pronounces, "Good."

"Told you."

Glenn looks at Annette. "So how's the summer going, girl genius?"

She beams at him. "Fantastic! My synthesis yield's up by thirteen percent!" Glenn high fives her. "Plus, I love the beach, and the weather's supposed to be perfect this weekend."

"Oh yeah? Getting out of the city?" He looks around for Mercedes, and doesn't find her, but the message gets across anyway because Annette flushes.

She says, valiantly, "We're _all_ going. Didn't Felix say?"

Glenn swivels to Felix, who's turned away from whatever he's murmuring about with Sylvain—come on, guys—at the sound of his name. "Huh?"

"We're going to the beach for the weekend! We've got an Airbnb." She tries to waggle her eyebrows like Sylvain, which is extremely funny. "On Fire Island."

"Why doesn't Felix tell me anything?" Glenn asks the ceiling sadly. "Am I not a good brother? I try. I really do."

"I forgot," Felix mutters. "It's not a big deal."

"Ouch," Sylvain says mildly, pressing a hand to his heart. "Not a big deal? An idyllic beach vacation with your dearest friends? Maybe one of the last weekends we'll all have together before we go our separate ways, scattering like leaves on the four winds—" He's cut off, coughing, as Felix drives an elbow into his side.

"We didn't even know it would happen until a few days ago," Felix tells Glenn. "It was hard to find a place. Anyway, we're leaving Friday." 

Glenn tsks. "Playing hooky? Shocking."

Felix gives him a scornful look. "It's Fourth of July weekend."

Annette chimes in, "Also Canada Day!"

"Canada Day's tomorrow."

"We're celebrating it late!"

As far as Glenn's concerned, it's last-week-before-the-Gaspard-trial weekend. Is he actually expected to take Friday off? He's not sure he could make himself do it even if Cassandra told him to.

He looks at what's left of his cupcake sadly. "You're taking Dedue with you, huh?"

"Obviously," Felix says. "That's the point."

Glenn heaves a theatrical sigh. "I guess I'll just have to fend for myself. All alone in this giant house. All weekend."

"Get a smaller house," Leonie says, unsympathetic. Which, fair.

The next night is the same. Dedue is, apparently, wildly popular with their friends, and their friends' friends. Glenn has nothing to complain about. This is the best he's eaten in weeks.

Thursday night it's just Felix and Dimitri. Cassandra told him if he tried to come in to the office the next day the door would be locked. He's almost tempted to test it; there's no way she and Seteth won't be there. Almost.

Dedue has made chicken tagine, with raspberry pavlova for dessert. It's incredible. "Not that I'm complaining, but how do you have time for this?" Glenn says. He turns it on Felix and Dimitri. "What are you guys doing with him all day?" 

They look at each other. Felix shrugs. "Working out."

"We drove up to Bull Hill yesterday," Dimitri offers.

"Come on," Glenn says. "The guy's visiting from Canada. At least take him into the city."

"I have spent plenty of time in New York City before," Dedue says, which probably is supposed to sound neutral, but he's been here four business days by now, Glenn can read that. Not a city guy, okay.

"All right," he says, surrendering, "as long as you're having a good time. I'm sure they're taking great care of you."

"They are," Dedue says. "They are excellent friends." It's pretty cute how both Felix and Dimitri look at their place mats. 

After dinner, Glenn leaves them to pound each other on some video game and holes up in Dad's study with his laptop, looking up old cases on Lexis. His mind's not really on it.

"Hey," Felix says from the doorway. Glenn spins around in the desk chair.

"What can I help you with, son," he says in the Rodrigue voice.

Felix makes a face. "Don't do that."

"How are your classes going? Have you thought about adding more of them?" Glenn drops the voice. "Or was that one just for me."

"I wish." Felix leans against the doorframe and tugs at the sleeve of his hoodie. "So like. You know we're going to the beach tomorrow."

"Yeah," Glenn says, amused. "I haven't forgotten in the last... two hours?"

Felix says gruffly, "You can come along, if you want."

Glenn's so sure he heard wrong that all he says is, "Huh?"

Felix shrugs. "Ashe can't come. So. There's space."

Glenn's tempted to give his head a good shake to see if anything comes loose. "And your friends are okay with that?"

"They like you for some reason. I don't know."

Glenn genuinely doesn't know what to do with this information. It's not like he didn't think he'd done a decent job endearing himself to Felix's friends group, but there's a big difference between "tolerates the obnoxious older brother" and "invites him along on your fun beach getaway."

"Uh," he says. "Wow. Thanks, dude, that's awesome of you guys."

Felix finally looks up from dissecting his sleeve. "So?"

For a split second, he really considers it. He hasn't been to the shore all summer, and Annette was right—the weather's supposed to be perfect. For a second he can almost taste the salt air. But—there's a line between approachable and pathetic. Besides, he has to be at a hundred percent on Monday.

"Think I better stay here. Monday's the first day of that trial I've been working on. I gotta be sharp."

Felix's brow creases. "Are you presenting arguments?"

"Me? God, no. No, I just—it's my job." He doesn't really know how to explain it, actually. "I'm supposed to be there."

Felix looks doubtful. "Okay."

"Thanks, though. Really."

Felix shrugs. "Your loss."

That's more like it. "Pack lots of sunscreen," Glenn says. "You know you have delicate skin."

Felix flips him off and flip-flops away. Glenn turns back to his laptop.

Felix and Dedue leave early the next morning. Glenn sees them off; they'll be dropping Dedue at the station on the way back in. Then he goes for a run, later and longer than he would have done with company. Back home, he takes the Times out to the deck and reads it cover to cover, including Home and Travel and the paid-for obituaries. After lunch (thanks for the leftovers, Dedue), he moves on to his latest book and gets through a luxurious seventy pages before dozing off in the deck chair and waking up in the late-afternoon glow, face uncomfortably warm. Oops.

It's Friday of a long weekend. He could go out. Or he could—not. He elects to browse Instagram and watch three of their dad's Criterion Collection DVDs in a row.

The next day is harder. He goes for another run, which works, but when he tries to do some more reading his concentration is shot. Instead he fucks around with the blender trying to make a smoothie and manages not to take off his own fingers. He sips the smoothie as he wanders around the house picking up stray shit here and there—but there's not much to do. Apparently Dedue is not only an otherworldly cook but also a neat person. Not relatable.

He puts in his earbuds and lies in the sun for what feels like an hour and is actually twenty minutes. He fires up Felix's old Xbox and fails miserably to summon the engagement necessary to figure out how to actually play Fallout 4. On a whim, he FaceTimes his dad, but no answer.

It's Saturday afternoon and Glenn is bored out of his mind.

He gives the book another shot and manages to make it through another thirty pages. That this is a struggle is a bad sign. That gets him to five, which is a reasonable time to start cooking, right? He doesn't cut corners this time; he goes through every careful step of preparation, thoroughly scrubbing every crevice of the peppers and zucchini, dicing them small and even. Unfortunately, there's nothing he can do to become a cook good enough to make something more time-consuming than pasta with veggies. Also, he's really hungry. 

It's the Fourth of July; there's plenty going on. He could go into the city. He could go to the fucking yacht club thirty minutes away. He could message anyone in his cohort and wrangle an invite to spend the night out with people he doesn't know that well and doesn't particularly like. 

It's possible he made a mistake.

Well, too late now, and if there's anything he's learned in almost twenty-five years as a Fraldarius, it's that there's no use chewing on what might have been.

Glenn closes iMessage before he texts Holst Goneril, who isn't even in the fucking country, something he'll regret. Instead he goes for a second run under the streetlights. Fireflies flicker in the park. Thank God the Creamery is open for the tourist trade, even on the Fourth of July. He thinks he sees the washed-out red hair dye of Dimitri's uncle's wife through the window, but by the time he's inside, there's no sign. Probably not her, anyway. There's no way the Blaiddyds aren't spending the weekend up at the second home they've definitely purchased by now.

Honestly, it's a miracle that Dimitri turned out as— _good_ as he did. It takes a lot of strength to resist the influence of your family, Glenn is happy to attest to that. Even when they love you. Or maybe especially when they love you.

Fortunately, excessive exercise does the trick. Glenn makes it back to the house completely beat, too tired to be bored, too tired to think. Is this why Felix spends so much time working out? Makes sense.

Sunday crawls by. When Glenn hears tires pulling into the driveway late in the afternoon, he can't even be ashamed at the bound of relief in his chest.

"Here comes the Paw Patrol," he says, as Felix, Dimitri, and Sylvain clomp in, managing to look simultaneously worn-out and glowing with exhilaration. Some more literally than others: Felix's nose and cheeks are pink. Sylvain just looks tanned and sun-kissed. That's not how it's supposed to work for redheads. Dimitri's hair might have gotten more bleached, or maybe it was always that blond. Sigh.

Sylvain looks from Glenn to Felix. His lips twitch. "The skin thing runs in the family, huh."

Felix shoots him a murderous look. Glenn touches his nose. He didn't think it was that bad.

"How was your weekend, Glenn?" Dimitri asks, politely ignoring the sunburn issue.

Glenn shrugs. "Eh, it was all right. Just kicked back for a couple days, nothing special." Pivot, thank you. "You guys have a good time out there?"

"It was truly wonderful," Dimitri says, lighting up. "Dedue told me he enjoyed it very much. I only hope that the others were equally satisfied."

Sylvain laughs. "This guy's too modest. It was fucking great. Yeah?" He punctuates this with a gentle elbow to Felix's side.

The way Felix goes out of his way not to make eye contact speaks for itself. "Yeah," he says. "It was good."

"It's a shame you couldn't join us," Dimitri adds, blue eyes soulful. "I'm sure you would have enjoyed it."

Glenn smiles. "Yeah," he says. "You're probably right."

They've brought back all the leftover beach house food. They all stand around making sandwiches in the kitchen and recounting the weekend's highlights to Glenn, like Felix losing slap hands and having to carry Annette piggyback to the beach. The pictures are fantastic. 

"I'm going up to the roof," Felix says. "Goodbye."

"Aww, Felix," Sylvain says, sliding an arm around his waist and leaning into his side, resting his chin on top of Felix's head. "You can try, but you can't get rid of us."

"Ugh," Felix says, and drags Sylvain with him as he goes, a limpet-like burden. Dimitri looks from Sylvain and Felix to Glenn.

Glenn raises his eyebrows. "Better keep an eye on them."

"Right," says Dimitri.

The window in Felix's room opens onto the roof overhanging the deck. It was Felix's favorite place to hide as a kid, lying flat so that he couldn't be seen unless you stuck your head and shoulders out the window. Glenn suspects it was also the site of a lot of underage drinking in high school, but what would he know about that.

It's amazing how his brain is firing properly again now that it's had a little basic human interaction. The Gaspard trial starts _tomorrow._ He should refresh, probably, if he wants to get the most out of it. He gets his laptop out with the best of intentions, and somehow finds himself reading the latest issue of HRLR instead. Oops.

Footsteps down the stairs, too heavy to be Felix. Sound of the refrigerator door opening. Pause. 

"Moved the beer to the bottom shelf," Glenn calls. "Sorry."

"Ah," says Dimitri's voice. "Thank you."

To Glenn's surprise, instead of heading back to the stairs, Dimitri wanders into the living room, sets three bottles on the coffee table, and takes a seat in the armchair. At Glenn's inquisitive look, Dimitri says, "Sylvain and Felix are undoubtedly making out on the roof by now, so I'll allow them a few moments before I loudly walk up the stairs."

For a moment, the cognitive dissonance of hearing Dimitri say 'making out' almost overwhelms the rest of what he says. Then it sinks in. 

Glenn's mouth falls open. Then he grins. "So. Everyone knows that's happening, huh."

"It's cute they think they can hide anything," Dimitri agrees.

Glenn cracks up. "Was it just absolutely unbearable all weekend or what?"

Dimitri says, fervently, "Yes." Glenn laughs harder.

"And all this time I was trying not to blow Felix's cover," he manages to get out.

Dimitri looks at him disapprovingly, which is delightful. "You've lived with him for twenty-one years. You should know better than that."

Glenn puts both hands over his face, helpless. "Jesus," he says, when he finally gets the laughter under control, "why didn't I say anything before this. I'm so sorry, Dimitri. This has clearly been a long summer for you." 

"It certainly has," Dimitri says.

"You think it's for real?" 

"Mmm," Dimitri says, because he isn't a snitch. Damn it. He looks at Glenn's laptop. "Am I keeping you from work?"

"Oh, this? Nah, it's fine. I'm just doing some reading. Not really my focus, just... " Glenn trails off. _Just interested._

"I can't believe I haven't asked before this," Dimitri says, sounding regretful. "Where are you working?"

"Charon & Rubens. Little firm, but Cassandra Rubens is one of the best trial lawyers in the city."

Dimitri says, "Yes. I know her."

"You do?" Glenn says, before his brain catches up with his mouth and it occurs to him precisely why Dimitri might know her. Great work, Glenn.

Dimitri shakes his head. "No, it's all right. She was close with my father."

"Oh," Glenn says, inexpressibly relieved. "That makes sense. Yeah, so I'm her gofer for the summer. She's tough, but it's great prep for district office."

Dimitri's brow furrows. "Is that what you intend to pursue?"

"Huh? Yeah, I mean—" He doesn't think he's ever had to answer that before. "Seems to be working out that way so far. Runs in the family. You know."

"I'm sure you'd be good at it." The line between Dimitri's brows is still there.

"Thanks," Glenn says, slowly. 

Silence. This is weird. Glenn feels almost like—he's not used to this.

Abruptly Dimitri says, "Please correct me if I'm mistaken but—didn't you want to do human rights work?"

Glenn's laptop tilts wildly and slides off his lap. 

One hand catches it, automatic. He—where did that come from. He hasn't said anything; he never says anything. He wasn't ready for the question, and he knows it shows in his face. And now it's been too long to pretend the answer could be no.

Glenn starts, "How did you..." Know? Guess? 

Dimitri is watching him intently. "You mentioned it a few times. In high school."

"And you _remembered?_ "

Dimitri shifts uncomfortably. Maybe it's not that unlikely. Glenn shot his mouth off plenty in high school, that was for sure. 

He runs a restless hand through his hair. "No, I'm not like—sorry, I was just surprised. Most people don't think about anything other than chip off the old block, future of SDNY."

"You used to talk about refugee and migrant law," Dimitri says. "It made an impression. At the time."

Glenn half smiles. "Thanks, I think. Yeah, I was pretty into that. Wow." He looks up at the sky, moves the hand from his hair to the back of his neck, down again. How to cover? "I mean, I still think it's incredibly important work. I guess, one thing just led to another, and, you know..."

"Of course." Dimitri would know about that. 

"Besides, this is New York. Anything and everything is on the docket in New York. Immigration, asylum, trafficking, you name it."

"That must certainly be true." Is Dimitri... humoring him? 

This feeling—it's like he's justifying himself. Making excuses. This is crazy.

Glenn sets his laptop down and leans over to swipe one of Dimitri's collection of beers. Felix can fend for himself. "Okay, enough about me. Let's talk about you."

Dimitri's face does a comical little contortion. "Er. Me?"

"Yeah." Glenn opens the bottle on the edge of the coffee table and takes a swig. "You're majoring in government and econ. You're working at the foundation even though you hate it." Dimitri flinches. "You've obviously got some kind of goal in mind. What's your plan?"

Dimitri says, "You know, Felix does the same thing when he doesn't want to talk about himself."

What.

"To answer your question," Dimitri continues, like he hasn't just socked Glenn in the face twice in five minutes, "my plan is to go into public policy. And I'm working at the foundation because my uncle is treating it as his private expense account and I'll oust him myself before I let him drag my father's name even deeper through the dirt."

"Oh," Glenn says blankly, and then, pulling himself together, "I—wow. You're sure? No, don't answer that. Of course you are."

Dimitri is smiling. It's not a nice smile. "Perhaps he'll come to his senses and step down before I graduate."

"Yeah," Glenn says faintly. "Well. Uh, I would say good luck, but sounds like you don't need it."

The smile softens. There's the Dimitri Glenn knows. "Thank you," he says. "I'd be glad for it anyway." 

After a minute, he adds, "I haven't ruled it out. Someday." 

Haven't ruled out what, Glenn opens his mouth to ask, and gets it just as Dimitri says, "Running for office."

Jesus. 

"Not—I'm not sure. I would only consider it if I thought it was the best way to—this is going to sound foolish."

"I promise it's not," Glenn says.

Dimitri's smile is a little bitter. "To make things better."

The moment stretches, and stretches.

Dimitri breaks it. "I should—"

"Right," Glenn says. "Yeah. Of course. Don't want them to get too wild up there."

Dimitri winces. "No. Definitely not. Well. I'll... see you."

"Yeah. Have a good night."

Dimitri gets up, crosses the living room, retraces his steps, picks up the beers, and finally makes it out.

Once he's gone, Glenn can finally let out a breath. In all the years he's known Dimitri, he's never been on the other side of—that. The overwhelming _presence._ It's half intimidating, half—well, anyway. He feels kind of like a blizzard just blew through him, leaving the landscape clear and chilly. This is what it's like to—to have a sense of purpose. Or rather, to follow it.

Well. Not everyone has that luxury, so in the meantime, back to the daily grind. Glenn turns back to his laptop. This time, he does pull up the case files.

* * *

He's at the courthouse at 8:30 sharp. The gallery's maybe a third capacity; the case is bizarre, but not in a sexy way. There's a few rubberneckers, a cluster of three or four young suits that Glenn would bet are interns from the district office, beat reporters from the Times and the Post. Glenn takes a seat up front. 

He has to crane his neck for a look at the defendants he's lavished with the best of his dubious research capabilities for the last six weeks. Lonato is grizzled and pugnacious; he and Gwendal are birds of a feather. Christophe is younger than Glenn expected, strain showing in his face. The guy probably has a good idea of the odds. That's rough.

The USAO attorney comes out guns blazing. So much for the objectivity of the opening statement. Glenn has to hide a wince more; wouldn't do to show up in a crowd shot cringing at his boss' chances. Not to worry. Cassandra's on offense from moment one, maneuvering aggressively to frame her client—clients—as victim of a politically motivated investigation, defense as counterpunch. Glenn's not sure the jury, or the judge, is going to buy it, but it's a pretty fucking valiant effort.

The first couple witnesses go by fast. Prosecution is clearly trying to play up a rift between father and son, implying that a struggle for power led to malfeasance. They're laying the groundwork; they'll bring out the big guns later. Cassandra takes point on cross-examination, and does her best to make an indent. When court adjourns for midday recess, Glenn feels the honors are fairly even.

He grabs a sandwich around the corner and is back at the courthouse thirty minutes later, along with half the courts: security is backed up. Glenn idly scans the line as he waits. He's pretty sure that's Judge Rangeld trying to joke with the security guard. And the kid behind him looks just like—Ashe?

It's definitely Felix's friend Ashe. That hair would stand out anywhere. Well, that's weird. Glenn's pretty sure he was a philosophy major—not the type to intern in court or rubberneck at trial. Equally hard to imagine a kid like Ashe in trouble with the law.

The line moves forward. Glenn shoots off a text to Felix as quickly as he can.

_Hey jw is yuor friend ash interested in law?_

_No  
What_

_Nbd just wondering_

_Stop trying to recruit my friends into your pyramid scheme_

_Hahahahaha_

At the front of the line he turns his phone over to security and returns to the courtroom. The next witness, a Gaspard Solutions employee from the early days who is apparently holding a grudge, gets bogged down in his own contradictions and Cassandra's all over him. The guy's sweated through his shirt by the time it's over, and his credibility has been trashed. It's the real first glimmer of light for the Gaspards.

The AUSA says, "The prosecution calls Ashe Duran to the stand." 

For a minute it's just—noise. Glenn can't make it fit together. What could a dreamy college student possibly have to do with a corporate malfeasance trial.

The answer is: Ashe is Lonato Gaspard's _foster son._ There's no evidentiary privilege for that. Have you ever felt Christophe resented your adoption into the family? Did you observe tension between father and son? How would you characterize their relationship? Did business discussions ever take place in the home? And how would you characterize those? Did Christophe ever mention his visits abroad at home?

Ashe looks utterly terrified. He's pale and washed-out under the fluorescents. He stammers, looks helplessly in the direction of the gallery. Glenn knows exactly what's going to happen right before it does. Ashe's big scared green eyes lock with his. Ashe's face crumples.

Glenn keeps a poker face, because it's his fucking job. 

All the hours he spent reading depositions from employees and expert witnesses, poring over technical minutiae. And he never even saw this coming. There's no way Cassandra didn't take full advantage of discovery. Who deposed Ashe—one of the junior attorneys? Did they miss something? Or did everyone know except Glenn, because his head wasn't in the fucking game. 

Court adjourns for the day before cross-examination. The prosecution registers an objection. Overruled. Thank fucking god. Glenn's out of there like a shot. 

He googles Ashe's name on the train. Nothing about his relationship with the Gaspards. On article on the GMU website: meet campus leader Ashe Duran, who started a program connecting GMU students with local at-risk kids. He's majoring in philosophy to grapple with how society can be so cruel but individuals so kind; in the long run he wants to work with children and give back to the community. He's so grateful to the family who took him in, kept him and his two younger siblings together—Jesus _Christ_ —before they drowned in the foster care system.

Home, Glenn opens the front door, hears voices from inside the house, and goes straight back through the gate to the deck, where he sits with his face in his hands and wishes for the ground to swallow him whole because that would be preferable to having to go to court tomorrow and watch his boss fucking demolish one of the nicest kids he's ever met. 

Behind him, the screen door opens. 

"Glenn." Dimitri's voice, surprised.

"Yeah."

"Is... everything all right?"

Glenn presses the heel of his palm against his eye. "Can't talk about it."

"Oh," Dimitri says. "Yes. Of course."

"Sorry. It's—sorry."

"No. That's all right." Dimitri clears his throat. "Felix and I are ordering in, if you'd like us to include you."

Glenn drags the hand down over his face. He can't bring himself to face Dimitri. "Yeah. Just—order extra and leave it out. I'll come in later."

"All right." Glenn can feel Dimitri there, hovering. "Is there anything..." 

"No," Glenn says. "Thanks."

"All right." Dimitri hesitates. Then he says, "Whatever it is... I hope it passes."

The screen door closes. Glenn stays out until long past sunset, past twilight, sitting alone in the dark.

* * *

It's a massacre. It would be legal malpractice for Cassandra _not_ to go all in on Ashe, and she does. She's not cruel, she doesn't go for emotional manipulation or try and trick him into tripping himself up. She just ruthlessly drills down on every word until it's utterly clear that Ashe idolizes Lonato, knows nothing about business, and has no useful testimony to offer whatsoever. A sweet and idealistic ditz. Ashe holds it together, twin patches of scarlet the only sign of the humiliation he must feel. 

Who the fuck in the USAO thought it was a good idea to put him on the stand? Who spent all of _five minutes_ with him and thought his testimony would help their case? Answer: they didn't, they just decided it didn't matter. Best case, he's a proof point for estrangement, worst case, he's useless but harmless. And who gives a shit who you fuck over when you're a federal prosecutor.

Ashe doesn't leave the courtroom when he's dismissed. He takes a seat in the gallery. It's a show of bravery that knocks Glenn backward. Cassandra watches, impassive. She's impressed.

That's about the last optimistic moment for the defense. The prosecution stops fucking around and starts laying out subpoenaed correspondence and travel records and IP logs, boom, boom, boom. It's not good. 

When court adjourns for the day, Ashe is quick to slip from the courtroom. Glenn chases after. "Hey," he calls, echoing in the hallway. "Hey. Ashe."

Ashe could ignore him, but he doesn't. Of course he doesn't; he's so polite. "Glenn," he says, struggling for a smile. "Yes. You're in law school. I forgot."

"Yeah. I'm—" He swallows down a useless apology. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Ashe says. "I'm, I'm sorry, I should, ah, my father—"

"Right. Sure. Sorry." Glenn watches him go, head down. 

The house is empty when he gets home. He's not complaining. A text from Felix arrives around 9 PM: _Crashing at a friends. dw._ Must be nice.

There's two more days of evidence for the prosecution, as technical forensic experts drag out testimony and leave Glenn's head swimming. Ashe's pale head is in the front row every day. Prosecution wraps on Thursday and the judge dismisses court early. Cassandra looks grim. No question why; it's going to take a miracle for the Gaspards to escape this. 

Glenn comes home to an empty house, again. It's not long before Felix bangs through the door, though, grimy from workout or practice. Glenn doesn't say anything. He keeps scrolling mindlessly through Twitter, clickbait to clickbait. He hasn't been doing a great job concentrating.

Felix just stands there, looking at him.

"What?" Glenn finally says, mostly so Felix will leave him alone.

"What's wrong," Felix says.

"Who says there's something wrong?"

Felix crosses his arms. "Please."

He knows his own voice is sharp. "I'm fine. Chill."

Felix's brows go down. "Fine." He leaves the room, spine stiff. Glenn feels like an asshole but even if he could talk about it he doesn't fucking want to. What would he say anyway. _I've seen my future and it looks like shit._

He drops his phone on the sofa and presses his palms against his closed eyes. This sucks so much more than he thought it would.

On Friday, defense calls their first witness. Christophe's up first. Gwendal may be taking the lead here but Christophe's clearly been schooled for the stand by Cassandra Rubens; he's clear, precise, impassioned but not overemotional. He presents a decent alternative for why Gaspard Solutions leadership acted in good faith amidst an unfortunate confluence of events. Prosecution cross-examines and doesn't get anywhere.

Then Lonato takes the stand.

Gwendal does an okay guiding him through his testimony. He's not as compelling as Christophe, but he doesn't fuck up. Then it's time for cross-examination.

"Mr. Gaspard, do you recall your remarks to the Board of Directors on April 18?"

Not specifically, no.

"Let me read them to you: 'You have been deceived by that—expletive redacted. I will show you the truth.' Does that sound familiar?"

Lonato supposes.

"Merriam-Webster defines paranoia as 'excessive or irrational suspiciousness and distrustfulness of—'"

Cassandra's objection is missed as Lonato completely melts down. His face goes red; the tendons of his neck bulge. His answer dissolves into a tirade against federal law enforcement, entrapment, the CIA, wire-tapping, and China. Cassandra objects, loudly. Overruled. The judge advises Lonato he's one remark away from a citation for contempt. Too late. It's in the jury's faces. They think he's unhinged. Paranoid. Exactly the type of person who would strike to avoid being struck.

Glenn looks at the front row. Ashe's shoulders are hunched. His head is bowed.

Gwendal calls the next witness—the Gaspard Solutions CFO—but it barely matters any more. They all know it's all over.

Glenn makes the decision on the train home. Enough self-pity. Once again: no use chewing on what-ifs. Time to think about he can do about it.

For the first time in days, the house isn't deserted. The trouble trio are on site, voices loud in the kitchen. Who would have thought Felix would spend more time in the kitchen this summer than he ever had in his life?

"Glenn," Dimitri says, even as his eyes search Glenn's face. Felix spins around and gives him the same once-over. It makes Glenn smile involuntarily.

"Hey," he says. "Long time."

"It's been four days," Felix says.

"And it felt like three times that," Glenn says with one hundred percent honesty. "What's up in here? Smells like—oh man, that looks good." A pot of chili bubbles on the stove, spicy and delicious. "Have you been hiding Dedue in the closet?"

"Sylvain made it," Felix says.

Glenn swivels his gaze on Sylvain. "Damn, Gautier."

Sylvain tries to shrug it off. "Learned it from my roommate. Gotta feed myself these days, you know?"

"He could have been doing this all summer," Felix says. "He waited until _now._ "

Sylvain looks down at Felix. "What," he says, smile fond, "I should have been following you around cooking, all summer long?"

Felix glances up and then away. "Yes."

Glenn, attempting to avoid looking directly at this, meet Dimitri's eyes. They share something between a smile and a grimace.

The chili tastes as good as it smells. Maybe Felix has a point. Glenn stays quiet, letting Dimitri ask Felix about his last summer league game and Sylvain describe some highly complicated drama at his job. He waits until the chili is gone and Sylvain is ruthlessly marching Felix to the sink—"If you don't cook, you clean, you know the rule"—to lower his voice and say to Dimitri, "Hey, got a minute to talk?"

"Of course," Dimitri says immediately, as Glenn knew he would. "What is it?"

Glenn jerks his head at the back door. They head out to the deck, where Glenn takes a seat on the steps. Dimitri follows suit.

"Your friend Ashe," Glenn says, and stops.

He can't do this. It's shitty to put this on someone else, to take advantage of what you know about them and their past and their ideals to make up for your own weaknesses and inadequacies. And he's going to do it anyway.

He starts again. "Look. I don't know how closely you follow the courts. There's this case that's been in the papers, the past few days." He risks a glance at Dimitri's face; no recognition. Okay.

"It's—Ashe's father, father figure, something. It's going to end badly. I don't know what the consequences are going to look like, and I don't think he's told anyone. I—" He takes a deep breath and looks away. "I don't want to ask you. It's shitty. I know it is. But someone needs to talk to him. Someone who's—" Been there.

There's a warm, reassuring weight on his shoulder. Dimitri's hand. "Glenn. Of course I will."

Glenn chances a look. "Are you—you will?"

Dimitri's brow is furrowed. He looks so concerned. "Ashe is a dear friend. If I can possibly help—I hope you don't think I'd be so selfish with my time."

"No, God, no, I—" Glenn laughs, dry. "Please, Dimitri. Everyone knows you'd hand over your own arm if someone asked for it. That's _why._ You shouldn't have to."

Dimitri's quiet for a minute. Then he says, "The worse part of everything that happened with my father was feeling completely alone. Like no one even knew. It may not be much but whatever I can do—I don't want anyone to feel like I did."

Glenn says, meaning it as much as he's ever meant anything, "I wish I'd been there."

Something happens in Dimitri's face. They stare at each other. His eyes are so horribly blue.

The screen door bangs open. "So that's where you—" Sylvain's voice abruptly breaks off, then picks right back up as if it never happened. "—crazy kids got to." 

Glenn rolls easily to his feet and flashes Sylvain his most practiced smile. "That for me?" He takes one of the two beers dangling from Sylvain's left hand and taps the neck against the open bottle in his right. "Thanks, Gautier."

Sylvain smiles right back at him, ironic and knowing. "No prob." He drops to the steps next to Dimitri, elbowing him in the side. "All yours, buddy." 

Glenn risks a glance. He can't see anything past the fall of blond hair and broad shoulders. "Thank you," Dimitri's deep voice says as he accepts the proffered bottle. No sign of movement. The signal's clear enough.

Glenn goes back into the house. Over to the cabinet where his emergency pack lies, then out the front door to the porch, where with steady hands he lights a cigarette and takes a deep drag. Shit, shit, _shit._

By the third cigarette, he's calmed down. It's fine. He's developed a massive crush on his little brother's best friend that goes way past the desire climb him like a tree all the way to a four-alarm impulse to fucking—protect him, or whatever, but it's fine. In a couple weeks Rodrigue will be back from London. Pre-season practice will start up and Felix will go back to campus. Glenn will get his own apartment back and no longer see Dimitri every other day, being so—hot and idealistic and vulnerable.

It doesn't feel great.

The front door opens. Glenn tenses.

Sylvain says, "Got a light?"

Glenn silently procures his lighter. For a moment they smoke in silence. The porch light catches in Sylvain's hair, red glinted gold.

Eventually Glenn says, "Surprised they don't give you a hard time." He means Felix, the primary reason he himself is only an occasional smoker.

Sylvain's mouth turns up. "Oh, they do." He takes a drag, exhales smoke. "I've cut down a lot. Not all the way."

"I feel you," Glenn says.

It's not a surprise when Sylvain says, "So. Dimitri, huh?"

There's only one way to respond to that. "So," Glenn says. "My little brother, huh."

When he flicks a glance over, Sylvain looks hilariously conflicted: part guilty, part surprised, part resigned. "Uh," he says.

Glenn raises an eyebrow. "That surprising?"

Sylvain runs a hand through his hair. "That we're talking about it? Yeah. That you noticed?" His mouth twists. "Guess I was hoping for the best." 

All of a sudden, he laughs. "But what the fuck do I know about having an older brother who's actually decent, right? I probably should have guessed you'd be able to, you know, tell."

What had Dimitri said the other day. Glenn leans against the porch column and breathes out smoke. Says, "I've known that kid for twenty-one years. He's an open book."

Sylvain smiles, quick and involuntary. "Yeah."

Another long silence. A pale sliver of moon floats in the twilight sky. A car passes on the street; another.

"We didn't really hang out, you know," Sylvain says, eyes on some point in the distance. "Or talk much. The first couple years Felix was at college. He was serious about school and the team and I was busy doing my best to fuck up anything, you know, remotely good in my life.

"Then we had this fight. I threw the whole playbook at him. Sorry to disappoint you but if you expected anything from me you're fucking kidding yourself. I'm doing exactly what I want. This is who I am."

Sylvain draws a deep breath. 

"And Felix said, I don't give a shit. You're my friend. Stop making excuses and act like it.

"And a lot more after that. Nothing I hadn't heard before, you know? But with Felix—" Sylvain lets out a breath. Not quite laughter. "I wanted to listen."

Sylvain looks at Glenn with a small, self-deprecating smile. "So, you know. I don't really get what it's in it for him, but as long as he's on board, I'm gonna do my best not to screw it up."

Glenn feels kind of like he's just gotten a look directly inside Sylvain Gautier's raw, beating heart. It's a lot to take in. But looking at Sylvain's wistful, hangdog expression, it feels a little like—like—

Glenn reaches out and cuffs his shoulder with a loose fist. "Don't be dumb. I know what's in it for him."

Sylvain turns those big brown eyes on him, somehow both skeptical and hopeful at once. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Glenn says. "And you should ask him what it is yourself."

Sylvain exhales a laugh. He smiles at his feet. "Guess so."

Another moment goes by. The end of Glenn's cigarette glows.

Sylvain says, "So, I guess we're not going to talk about Dimitri, huh?"

"Nothing to talk about," Glenn says, and stubs out his cigarette on the deck. "I'm headed back in."

Sylvain doesn't pursue it. Instead he says, "I'm gonna stay out here a minute longer."

Glenn leaves him on the steps, smoke drifting out into the summer night.

* * *

The defense proceeds quickly when court resumes on Monday. It's like no one has the heart to drag it out. Lonato Gaspard looks choleric, Christophe pale and haggard. Gwendal is competent, but no more. Cassandra would never let it go like that, Glenn finds himself thinking. 

The thing doesn't come to a close for another two days. Ashe is in the front row throughout. Glenn doesn't try to talk to him again.

Cassandra takes the closing argument. She's great: powerful, efficient, compelling. Glenn almost falls out of his seat when he recognizes a phrase from one of his memos coming out of her mouth.

The jury's out for a couple hours, which is respectable. There's a decent amount to go over, after all. They return with a verdict of guilty on all counts. Lonato sets his jaw. Christophe puts his head in his hands.

The sentencing is set for the next month. Glenn will be gone then. He'll have to make sure Dimitri knows.

He lingers after the gallery begins to disperse, waiting to catch Cassandra's eye. She's talking with Christophe Gaspard, clasping his shoulder. Who knows, maybe it'll go to appeal. 

Christophe leaves with a bailiff escort. Glenn offers Cassandra a hand. "Nice closing."

Cassandra grimaces but shakes it. "We both know the whole damn case was a shitshow from start to finish. If that stubborn old fool had just..." She sighs. "Never mind. This is why you don't represent your friends, by the way."

"Yeah," Glenn says. "I get that."

She pins him with the eagle eyes. Just when he's starting to get uncomfortable, she says abruptly, "Your work on this was a material help. Take tomorrow off. When you come in on Thursday, we'll talk about your offer."

It's like a bucket of cold water to the face. 

How the fuck could he have forgotten—no, made himself forget. That the whole fucking point of the game for most summer associates is the big fat letter at the end with a six-figure number and an invitation to come back in a year. And that even though he never really intended to take this one, he's going to have to explain why, one year before he has to take _something._

"Yes, ma'am," he says. "Thanks."

He's in a foul mood all the way home. When he gets inside, Felix is slumped in the armchair in his ratty athletic gear, absorbed in his phone. Of course he is.

"What took you—oh." Felix spares him a glance. "You're home early."

"Court case."

"Oh," Felix says again, disinterest clear. "Work."

"Right," Glenn says. There's a raw buzz right under his skin. "What would you know about that."

Felix goes still.

He's picking a fight. It's way past time he did. "Yeah, I know we've been ignoring it, I know you don't want to do shit but Dad's right. You've got one year left to figure your shit out and you just threw away the whole summer."

"What the fuck," Felix says.

Glenn shrugs, deceptively casual. The buzz is louder, coiling in his shoulders, vibrating under his voice. "I'm just saying. The year'll go by a hell of a lot quicker than you think. I know you don't want to make actual choices but for once no one else can actually do this for you."

"What the fuck is your problem?"

Glenn raises his eyebrows, in the way he knows Felix hates. " _My_ problem? I'm not the one with a problem. That's my whole point."

"That's fucking hilarious," Felix says. His voice is shaking; he's never been able to disguise his anger. "Like you have any fucking clue what I'm thinking."

"Doesn't matter what you're thinking. Matters what you're doing." 

"You always think you know fucking everything, just because you're—"

"I don't know everything," Glenn says. "I just know more than you."

" _Shut up_ ," Felix says, furiously. He's on his feet, hands balled into fists. "You have no fucking idea. everything is so _easy_ for you—"

For a minute Glenn actually, literally sees red. "Or _maybe_ ," he grinds out, "I just have to actually do shit because I don't have anyone fixing all my problems for me."

Felix actually laughs, short, sharp, and bitter. "Please, when hasn't everyone fallen all over themselves to do shit for you. 'Just like his dad!' It's fucking embarrassing." It knocks the words right out of Glenn's mouth. Felix isn't done. "You've never had to make a single choice in your whole perfect life, so shut the fuck up about mine!"

Glenn spits, "Oh, boo fucking hoo, my life is so hard, I get to do whatever I want."

Felix makes a noise, somewhere between a growl and a hiss. It takes him two tries to snatch up the strap of his gear bag. His face is red, his knuckles on the strap white. He stalks across the room then turns back. "Fuck you. Just— _fuck_ you."

Glenn yells after him, "Sure! Just walk the fuck out! Why not, you can do whatever you want!" 

The front door slams. Glenn looks wildly around the room. There's the inevitable fucking soccer ball on the floor. Glenn swipes it up one-handed and heaves toward the hall as hard as he can.

It lands squarely in Dimitri's hands.

For a minute Glenn just stands there, blank. Dimitri looks down at the ball, then back at him.

The silence stretches.

"Might want to come back later," Glenn suggests, right before he pivots on his heel and slams out the back door.

He wants to run, or bloody his fists, or—or— He yanks open the gardening shed. There's an ancient pair of long-handled shears inside. Glenn snatches them up, slams the door, and attacks the hedge furiously. Bough after bough flies in the air as the shears hack and slash. It's not like anyone's going to see it. Might as well go for the big ones. There goes one. Then another. Sweat dampens his shirt. The blades close around a thick branch. Glenn's arms strain. The shears twist, wrench, and split apart with a crack.

The halves fall to the ground. Glenn's breathing hard. His shoulders are heaving.

He trudges slowly back across the yard. Sinks down on the deck.

"Christ," he says into his hands.

He's not sure how long it's been, or how long it's been there, before he hears the screen door creak. Heavy footsteps cross the deck.

He does not look up. "Look. Dimitri. I'm not really—it's not the best time."

Dimitri doesn't answer. Glenn hears the sound of a body settling on the deck beside him. Somewhere above his head a bee buzzes restlessly.

"I should apologize," Dimitri says finally. "I had no business listening to your private conversation."

Glenn has to laugh, dry. "Uh, pretty sure we didn't give you a choice." He finally lifts his head, just far enough to scrub his hands over his face. "I'm the one who should apologize. No idea you were there. Obviously."

"It's all right." 

Glenn takes another deep breath, in and out. Finally, he makes himself look over at Dimitri. Dimitri is watching him, concerned but not overbearing. Just—watching.

Glenn musters up a smile. "Now you know the dark side of siblinghood. Sometimes you just..." 

Resent them. Envy them. Want to fix them. Can't hold it in any more.

He lets out a sigh. "I know I was—picking a fight. Taking my shit out on him. But I meant it." 

He's still wearing his work shoes; he digs the heel into the grass. "Like, I know it sucks. But if he doesn't—he's got to take this shit seriously some time. I can't look after him forever."

Dimitri says, neutral, "Is that what it feels like you're doing?"

The spark flares back up. "What do _you_ call it?" Glenn snaps.

Dimitri doesn't say anything, which Glenn can recognize as a smart move. There's probably no answer he wouldn't reject at the moment.

He heaves a sigh. "Look. I know you're Felix's best friend. I just—I really don't want to argue about this with you, Dimitri."

"Then perhaps you should argue about it with your father," Dimitri says, steel under the words, which is so unexpected that Glenn's mouth actually falls open.

"Huh?"

Dimitri walks it back immediately. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't—I have no right to criticize. I mean, I wasn't. Criticizing."

"What do you..." Glenn trails off. He genuinely doesn't get it. 

Dimitri doesn't say anything for a minute. He appears to be scrutinizing the hacked-up hedge, brows drawn together in a familiar furrow.

He says, "Did you know Felix wants to go pro?"

The words don't make sense. "Pro what?" Dimitri looks at him. It clicks. "Wait. What? _What?_ "

Dimitri gives him a moment to let it sink in. Glenn is aware he's gaping. "But— Is he—" _That good_ , he doesn't end up saying, because he immediately knows the answer is _yes_. He's been watching Felix on the ball for the last sixteen years. It's been right in front of him. The one thing Felix really cares about, the thing he works harder than anything for, the thing he lives, sleeps, eats, breathes, ever since he insisted on tagging along to Glenn's practices when he was five years old.

Glenn scrubs his hands over his face. " _Shit._ "

"I'm not sure he'd like me to talk about it," Dimitri says. "But I thought that perhaps—it would be good for you to know."

"No shit," Glenn says. "How did— Did he tell you?"

Dimitri doesn't answer directly. He says, "I've been to a lot of his games in the last few years."

Which means _He didn't have to_ , which means Glenn is exactly as much of an asshole as he feels right now.

"Jesus," he says. "Why hasn't he ever—why didn't he say anything?" It's not like Felix has ever been shy about saying what he thinks, or doing what he wants. Or at least it sure as hell never seemed that way to Glenn. He can't have been that wrong this entire time. Can he?

Dimitri chooses his words carefully. "You would have to ask Felix. But I believe... he's worried how such a decision would be received. By the people whose opinion he cares about most."

Glenn snorts. "He's never given a shit about telling Dad exactly what he thinks."

Dimitri says, "He's not worried about disappointing your father."

Then who—

It feels like a punch to the solar plexus. A pulverizing grip around the heart. Glenn stares at Dimitri. "You're kidding me."

Dimitri gives him a half-smile. "Felix has always tried to do whatever you did."

"Yeah, because—it's _competitive_ , that's what brothers—you're kidding me." He's repeating himself. It's not the idea that Felix would—would care, about what Glenn thinks. It's that he would second-guess himself over it. Hamstring his own life. 

Glenn says, testing the words, "For ages all he'd tell anyone who listened was that he wasn't me. It was like his fucking mission statement or something."

Dimitri says, "You probably don't remember this. Felix and I were still in junior high, and I asked you what extracurriculars you recommended." He makes a face. "Now that I say that it sounds... insufferable." 

Glenn smiles at that. Dimitri continues, "And you said, if you're thinking about college applications, obviously you need something in addition to sports. Model UN would be a good choice."

"Not that I was biased," Glenn says. He laughs, incredulously. "I mean, I knew he hated it. All that compromise."

"Every minute from the first meeting," Dimitri agrees. "And he kept it up anyway."

"Jesus." Glenn still can't wrap his head around it. "Suffering through a whole year of MUN just for—that poor kid. No wonder he finally threw in the towel."

"Threw in...?"

"Yeah, he—were you guys still talking then? Sorry. Anyway, he said he quit to go out for track but I always knew track was just an excuse."

Dimitri raises an eyebrow. "Is that what he told you?"

"He—what." Glenn searches Dimitri's face. "Are you saying it isn't?"

"As I remember it," Dimitri says, "he was asked not to return after he flipped a table over during the NY-NMUN Security Council meeting."

Glenn's jaw drops. "A _literal table?_ "

"It was quite something," Dimitri says, with a look of fond reminiscence

"Holy shit," Glenn says, and bursts into laughter.

The laughter dries up eventually. And there he is again, stuck confronting just how oblivious he's been over the last several—months? Years?

Glenn says quietly, "I've really fucked this up, huh."

Dimitri says, with audible hesitancy, "I realize the irony in saying this, but—you shouldn't be so hard on yourself."

That's enough to make Glenn fix him with an incredulous look. Dimitri colors slightly. "I said—"

"I heard you."

When no further objection is forthcoming, Dimitri says, stumbling a little, "You told me that when Felix and I fought, we didn't know how to—pull our punches, I believe you said. I think—that is, it seems—" 

He clearly can't figure out a diplomatic way to finish that sentence. "That we bring out the stupid teenager in each other?" Glenn suggests, bone dry.

"Yes. Er." Dimitri winces, but doesn't take it back.

"Yeah. You're probably right." Glenn exhales. "Not exactly flattering, but."

Dimitri ventures, "You're probably not the only one to... miss things, either."

"Oh yeah?"

"Well," Dimitri says. "For one thing. I don't think it ever occurred to Felix that you might have hesitated for even a moment over your path in life."

Glenn says, "But it occurred to you,"

Dimitri's gaze is so steady. "It has now."

After a minute, Glenn drops his eyes. His mouth twists up. "So we should talk, huh."

Dimitri says, even more hesitant now, "I've always thought that you were both very." He clears his throat. "Lucky. To have someone to turn to, no matter what."

Glenn says, helpless, "I just—he's my _brother._ I want him to be, you know. Happy."

Dimitri says softly, "I don't think that's in doubt."

Glenn's stupid pulse jumps. He tells himself to get a grip. "Thanks." He clears his throat. "For this whole—you know. Thanks."

Of course Dimitri has to demur. "Anyone would do the same, if they could."

"Anyone would not," Glenn says, but lets it go. He blows out a long breath. "So what do you think, is he coming back tonight?"

Dimitri gives the question due consideration. "I suspect if he's in Manhattan by now..."

"Right. Makes sense." Glenn gives his face one last hard scrub, then checks his phone. "God. Okay. Let's put a hold on the angst for a couple hours, I'm starving." 

Dimitri starts to get to his feet. "I should—" 

Glenn cuts him off. "You want to get dinner? We could go somewhere instead of ordering in for once."

Dimitri looks startled, then, slowly, smiles. Glenn's really not helping himself here. Oh well. "I—Yes, I would be happy to."

"Great." Glenn says, and claps him on the shoulder. "My treat."

* * *

 _hey  
key's in the back if you need it  
stay safe_  
Read 10:05 PM

* * *

Glenn sleeps better that night than he has in weeks. Apparently there's something to be said for emotional catharsis. He wakes well after his usual alarm and goes for a long run, savoring the burn like it's the first time. 

When he emerges from the shower, he can hear the rhythmic _thwock, thwock, thwock_ of a soccer ball on cleats in the backyard.

Felix is out on the grass, under one of the big trees, doing keep-ups. They used to have a net back there. Glenn always made Felix play goalie first, before making a big deal out of relenting and letting them switch. He swears he can see the lines where the grass was never the same.

Glenn stands on the deck for a while, watching. Felix doesn't miss once.

After a while, Felix lets the ball fall to the side of his foot and shoots, a perfect arc across the yard. It lands precisely a foot from the deck, perfectly placed. He crosses the yard, slowly, and sits down on the steps.

Glenn says, "You know you're better than I was, right?"

"Yeah." Felix looks down, rolls the ball back and forth with his toe. "Didn't think you did."

Glenn expels a long breath. "Honestly, maybe I didn't. I wasn't... I'm sorry I wasn't paying more attention."

Felix shrugs. "It's okay. It's just soccer to you."

"And it's not to you." Glenn eases down next to Felix and props his elbows on his knees. "Gotta say I feel pretty stupid that I had to get that from Dimitri."

Felix shoots him a quick glance. "What did he say?"

"That I was talking out of my ass when I said you didn't have your shit together."

Felix's eyebrows fly up. " _Dimitri_ said—"

"I'm paraphrasing."

A moment passes before Felix speaks again.

"I know it's not..." He's almost frowning down at the ball. "It's not permanent. Like, I can't play sports for the rest of my life. I know that. But I can do it _now._ I'm good. I could be better. I could be—" He bites off the sentence with an effort that's almost physical. Glenn knows what goes there. _The best._

"What's it feel like?" Glenn asks. "When you're out there."

Felix keeps his eyes on the ball at his feet. His brows are drawn. He's concentrating.

"When I'm playing," Felix says slowly, "that's all I'm thinking about. Or—I'm not really thinking, I guess. I'm not a brain. Just... muscles and lungs and like. Just part of the wind. It feels like." He ducks his head, ears red. "This sounds stupid."

"No," Glenn says. "I think I get it." Not the feeling itself, but what it gives to Felix. He has to steel himself to get the next part out. "I was—ugh. You were right. I did—do—think I know everything. Sometimes, anyway."

Felix rolls his eyes. "Yeah," he says, "well, _that's_ not new," and that's it, that's the olive branch. Glenn lets out a breath he didn't totally know he was holding. 

"I said a lot of shit that was pretty out of line yesterday. Sorry."

Felix shrugs, uncomfortably. "It's not like it was just you." He bites his lip. "Sometimes it's just like... I don't know. You're lucky you like all the right stuff."

Glenn has to choose his words carefully.

He says, "If you know something will make someone happy, and you know it's something you're good at... It's easier if you like it."

Felix looks up.

"And the more you tell yourself you like something, well." Glenn shrugs one shoulder. "The more likely it is to end up true."

Felix is looking at him like Glenn is a brand-new person. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Felix looks away again. "Guess I wasn't ever good at that."

Glenn raises his eyebrows. "Taking the easy route? No kidding."

"Shut up," Felix mutters. It's weak.

Another few moments of silence. Glenn leans back on his hands and tilts his face up to the sun. Barely a cloud in the sky. An idyllic summer day.

Felix says to the grass, "I got scouted."

Glenn bolts upright. "You _what?_ "

"Don't get excited." Felix's shoulders are hunched. "It's not a contract offer or anything. It's just like. Come to training camp, work out with the reserves, whatever."

"Holy shit," Glenn says, and repeats, "Holy _shit._ "

"Yeah, so." Felix's eyes are still fixed on the grass. His mouth is turned down at the corners. "I have to decide whether I'm going to take it."

His little brother is easily the most frustrating person alive. "What are you talking about, you literally just told me this is what you want to do."

"Yeah," Felix says, "but. I don't know. There's a lot to think about."

"Is there?" Glenn demands. 

Felix shrugs, jerky. "You know it's going to be, why aren't you doing more with your education. Like law school."

"I swear to you," Glenn says, "there is no one alive who expects you to go to law school."

"Fuck you," Felix mutters, but it's half-hearted. "You don't think it's a waste of, whatever." He waves a hand around the yard, somehow taking in _good schools, private lessons, enrichment camps, travel, a stable home life._ "Everything."

Glenn says, with total conviction, "It could not fucking matter less." 

It's like something tight in Felix's face all of a sudden vanishes. He's looking at Glenn like he hasn't looked at him in—in a long time.

"Seriously. Who gives a shit. If it's what you want, and it's just out there waiting? You have to go for it."

Felix says, testing, "I'd have to move to Ohio."

Glenn snorts. "Okay, now you're just being a contrary little bitch."

"Takes one to know one."

"Wow, clever."

Felix gives Glenn's arm a half-hearted punch. Glenn elbows him back. They lapse into silence.

Glenn says, "I'm gonna fly out for all your games."

"Please don't."

"Got some cheers all worked out."

"I swear to god, Glenn."

"Hey. Little brother." When Felix looks at him, Glenn says, "Congrats." 

"Thanks," Felix says, and gives him a small smile. 

* * *

Glenn thinks about what he's going to say on the train in. Just one week of commuting left. He won't miss it. Outside the doors of Charon & Rubens, he takes a deep breath. He can do this.

"There you are," says Cassandra, from behind him. He does not jump out of his skin. "My office, thirty minutes."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, automatic.

She sighs. "How many times have we talked about this,"

Glenn pulls himself together. "Still got a week to get it right, uh..."

She waits.

"...Cassandra."

"That was pathetic," she informs him, and sweeps into the office.

Thirty minutes later he's seated across from her desk, gaze wandering around the office despite himself. There's her JD diploma on the wall, a USMC paperweight on the desk, GMU pennant over the bookcase. GMU?

She follows the direction of his eyes. "Ah. You got your BA at Garreg Mach, yes?"

"Uh, yeah. Me, dad, little brother, the whole Knight family. I didn't think you...?"

"Not me," she says. "My partner is an instructor there."

"Your partner," Glenn repeats. He didn't think Seteth— 

"Oh," he says, and then, stupidly and incriminatingly, "Oh."

Her eyebrows go up. Well, shit.

"Uh," he says. "I didn't mean—"

"I'm surprised at you, Glenn," she says, and before he can defend himself, "I thought you were quicker on the uptake."

"I just didn't really think about it," he says, honestly.

Cassandra arches an eyebrow. "Fairly sure 'massive dyke' is the _first_ thing that comes to mind for most people."

Does she think he's lying? "No, I mean it," he says. "I mean, I get what you're saying, but—" Shit. 

Cassandra regards him. Glenn drags both hands over his face. "I'm not doing great here, huh."

"It's refreshing," Cassandra says. "Anyway, that's not what we're here to talk about." No kidding. Glenn barely has time to try and recalibrate before she says, "You don't really want to be here, do you?"

Glenn's brow furrows. "I'm... happy to talk?"

Cassandra says, "In criminal law."

It's like a free kick straight to the face. He didn't even see it coming. "I, uh," Glenn says, and that's it, he's already lost the ball game. He pulls himself together. "I've had an incredible opportunity here to do real, serious work and see the field from the inside. I absolutely appreciate what I've learned over the last two months. I think I could do good work here."

"But you don't want to."

Can't really duck the sword when it's pressed to your throat. Glenn lets out a deep, heavy breath. 

"No," he says, out loud, for the first time in his life. "I don't."

It's funny to hear it aloud. He thought it would have sounded more—explosive, maybe. It's just a few words.

"What was your plan? Originally. You weren't here for the offer."

"Uh." Glenn scrambles to remember. "Yeah. No. I was serious about the experience. I wanted—thought I wanted—anyway, get the experience, make some connections, do my 3L externship in community defense, then after graduation go for the DA's office. Maybe a clerkship, but uh." He can admit it now. "That was more about putting off practice for another year. And finally, you know. The glorious Sovereign District of New York."

"Hmm." Cassandra crosses her arms over her chest. Glenn tries not to fidget. "And what do you want to do?"

What's the point in faking it now. Glenn waves farewell to his reputation and says, "Human rights law."

She raises an eyebrow. "Really."

"It gets worse," he says. "Refugee and migrant issues. Bleeding heart central."

"You do know you could do some of that work in the federal courts."

It's exactly what he said to Dimitri. "Sure," Glenn says. "I could bust traffickers and torturers for the rest of my life. But I don't want to spend my whole career taking down bad guys. I want to do something—something—"

"Constructive," she says.

"Yes," he says. His heart is racing. "Yes. Exactly."

"Hmm," she says again.

Glenn doesn't really know what to say. He feels kind of like he's just lost the contents of his stomach, and also like a huge weight has lifted from his shoulders. Where does he go from here?

Silently, Cassandra pulls a notepad in front of her. She selects a stainless-steel pen and begins to write in strong, forceful strokes.

"Uh," Glenn says after a minute. "Should I... go?"

"I'm making some notes," she says, without looking up. "You know who Rhea de Seiros is?"

"Sure," he says, slowly. "The UNHCR."

Cassandra draws an underline across the page, stabs a period, and caps her pen. She tears off the bottom half of the sheet and slides it across the desk to Glenn.

It's an email address.

"Rhea takes an active interest in mentoring and professional development," Cassandra says. "I suggest you reach out to this address."

"What," Glenn says.

"I'll follow up on my side, obviously. We've worked together before."

"You've worked with the UN High Commissioner for Refugees," he parrots.

Cassandra arches a brow at him. "Yes. So don't embarrass me."

Glenn swallows. "Uh. Yeah. Yes. I..." — _'ll try not to_ —"won't."

"Good." Cassandra swivels her desk chair and picks up a thick folder. "Now. You've got a week and a half left with us. I don't intend to waste it."

"Right," Glenn says, sitting up straight. Adrenaline surges through his blood. He realizes he's grinning. "Bring it on." 

* * * 

**Dimitri**  
_Good afternoon, Glenn  
I hope I'm not bothering you while you're at work  
I just wanted to check in and make sure everything is all right  
Sorry, I suppose it's not my business_  
Sent: 1:31 PM

 _hey!  
no worries. not bothering at all. and there's nothing to apologize for.  
yeah, it's all good now. i think.  
felix and i talked yesterday. it was good.  
there's a lot of stuff neither of us really like talking about so like. i think he thought it was good to get it out too? idk. hope so._  
Sent: 1:39 PM

 _Oh good!  
I'm very glad to hear it  
I'm sure Felix feels the same way  
He started answering my texts again, which is a good sign_  
Sent: 1:41 PM

 _hahahahahaha  
that's our felix_  
Sent: 1:42 PM

 _btw i had a wild talk with with cassandra today  
my boss_  
Sent: 1:46 PM

 _Right, I remember  
Wild... in a good way?_  
Sent: 1:47 PM

 _yeah like  
haha i'm still not totally sure how to process it  
but definitely in a good way  
i'll tell you all about it this weekend  
you're coming to the game right?_  
Sent: 1:49 PM

 _Of course :)  
I look forward to hearing about it then_  
Sent: 1:50 PM

🙌  
Sent: 1:50 PM

 **Dad**  
_hey dad, hope your last week is going well  
so i promise this isn't bad news, but  
when you get home, can we talk?_  
Sent: 3:16 PM

* * *

Felix's last game is on Saturday afternoon. The league will go on for another month, but Felix will be back at GMU in two weeks, running drills with Coach. The game itself is nothing special, but his friends come out anyway, Annette and Leonie and Mercedes, obviously Sylvain. Dimitri.

Glenn watches with a critical eye this time, analyzing the best of the opposition. It's a center back with twin candy-pink ponytails, some girl Leonie knows from Leicester. She's a real enforcer; Felix struggles to get past her. He manages it, though, and slots the ball cleanly into the net. Felix's fan club cheers like it's the World Cup.

"You ever think about going pro?" Glenn asks Leonie. Beside him, Dimitri smiles.

Felix's team wins easily, 6-1. Undefeated over eight weeks. The group meanders over to the adjoining park afterwards, claiming a spot under the big plane trees and finishing off the contents of Annette and Mercedes' picnic basket. When the food's gone, Sylvain produces a frisbee. 

Glenn sits it out. Someone has to keep an eye on the stuff. Also, he has shitty hand-eye coordination. 

Five minutes later, Felix joins him.

"You're fucking up the numbers," Glenn says, as Felix drops to the grass.

"Who cares," Felix says. "I hate ultimate."

"You're just crabby 'cause you can't aim."

"Frisbees are fucking stupid," Felix says, which means Glenn's right.

They watch in silence for a while as their friends laugh and shout and trip over the grass. Mercedes targets Dimitri with a wicked slice. Leonie makes a diving catch.

A throw from Sylvain swoops over Annette's head, despite her heroic leap, and zooms off course. Dimitri makes a futile grab, but he's beaten by a golden retriever, who bursts joyfully out of nowhere to catch the frisbee in its mouth. Exclamations of shock and delight. The dog bounds across the grass straight to Sylvain, who drops to his knees grinning. 

The dog's tail wags furiously. She wants to play, waiting until Sylvain reaches for the frisbee and then dancing back away. Eventually she drops the frisbee and lets her tongue loll out as Sylvain scratches her ears. Her owners approach and Sylvain looks up, laughing. Glenn glances at Felix.

It's all over his face, if you know him even a little, and Glenn has known him since he'd been in the world for only three squalling and bad-tempered hours.

He nudges Felix. "Seems like that's a good thing you've got going."

Felix tears his eyes away long enough to shoot Glenn a quick look. He doesn't deny it. 

"What's going to happen once you head back to campus?"

Felix shrugs, stiff. "I don't know."

Glenn waits. 

Felix says, "It's not... We haven't really. Talked. About anything." 

"Really?" Glenn says. "We have."

That's enough to make Felix actually turn. Glenn smiles at him guilelessly.

Felix says, like it has to be dragged out of him, "What did he say."

He's just so easy. "Come on," Glenn says, outright grinning now, "you wouldn't expect me to snitch on a private conversation, would you?"

"God, I hate you," Felix says, and goes back to staring straight ahead like he's attempting to burn a hole in the grass. His ears are red.

Glenn leans back on his hands and says, "But dude is head over heels for you. In case you were wondering."

Felix starts, visibly. "What," he says, and then, "No. Stop."

"Whatever you want," Glenn says, agreeable.

Across the grass, Mercedes leaps gracefully to intercept a toss from Dimitri to Sylvain. Nice.

Felix says, "It's silly to think that this would—I'm still stuck at school. It would probably fall apart even if I don't go to Columbus. I don't want..." He pauses; Glenn can fill in plenty of blanks. "Things to get messy."

"Maybe," Glenn says. "But like. Are you really going to sell out what you've got now just because you're afraid of a little mess?"

Felix snorts. "Deep." His shoulders are scrunched up, though, like they get when he knows someone else is right.

"I'm just saying," Glenn says. He can hear how his own voice softens. Embarrassing, but whatever. "Maybe talk about it with the other guy before deciding it's gonna go down in flames."

Felix doesn't say anything, but he makes a little sound of acknowledgement. That's good enough.

They're playing some kind of keepaway now, with Dimitri in the middle. Glenn waits to see how Annette, five feet even, is going to get a pass over Dimitri, six foot two.

Out of the blue, Felix says, "Dimitri had a crush on you in high school."

Glenn gapes at him.

Felix glances over and smirks. "Yeah, it was really obnoxious. Every Model UN meeting, I swear. Glenn's so _smart._ Glenn's so _funny._ Glenn's so _handsome._ "

"What," Glenn says weakly, and then, "There is no way he ever said—the last thing."

Felix makes a face. "Didn't need to. He watched you all the time. It was gross."

"Felix," Glenn says. "Why are you telling me this."

"Wow," Felix says, and rolls his eyes. "I wonder. Just doing you a favor, _big brother_."

"Please never do me a favor again."

"How does it feel," Felix says, which—Glenn knows he deserves it, but god, does he not want it.

Felix lets him go, though, at least for a moment. Glenn's mind is racing. Felix has to be fucking with him. Right? _Right?_

"Look, Felix says quietly. "I know you're my brother. But, like—try not to fuck him up, okay? He's been through a lot."

There's a lot Glenn could say to that, starting with _You think I fuck people up?_ That's a lawyer's response, though. Glenn knows exactly what Felix actually means.

"I know," he says. "Don't worry. Pretty sure this is all very hypothetical."

Felix looks at him sidelong. "Are you?"

Glenn is saved by the approach of Sylvain, hands tucked in his pockets, sunlit and handsome and the picture of summertime ease. Poor Felix. 

Glenn raises his voice. "Who won?"

"Me," Sylvain says, "and you have no choice but to take my word for it. We're thinking the Creamery. You two in?"

Glenn shakes his head. "Sorry, can't move. Do you take orders? I could go for a strawberry cone."

"Sure," Sylvain says. "Felix?"

"Fine," Felix says.

Felix holds out a hand, waiting. Sylvain smiles at him. He grasps the hand and pulls Felix to his feet, with no discernible effort. Once Felix is upright, Sylvain moves to back off, but Felix doesn't let go. Instead, he tugs and Sylvain stumbles a step forward, just right for Felix to lean up and kiss him in front of Glenn and their friends and all of Nassau County.

Felix pulls back. He drops Sylvain's suddenly-slack hand like it's on fire and stalks past him. 

Sylvain looks like he's been hit by a truck. He manages to unfreeze just enough to turn around; it clearly takes some effort. "Uh, Felix?" he says in a voice that is several notes higher than usual.

"Are you coming or not," Felix says, already a full two yards away. The back of his neck is red.

"I'm—yeah, I'm—hold on." Sylvain sounds breathless. He looks at Glenn, helplessly. Glenn gives him a thumbs up.

"Hurry up," comes over Felix's shoulder.

"I'm coming, I'm coming."

"Remember," Glenn says, "strawberry cone," but he's fairly certain Sylvain doesn't hear him.

He twists around, craning to see past the trunk, and spots Leonie and Mercedes deep in conversation, taking no notice of what just transpired. Annette, on the other hand, has both hands clapped over her mouth, eyes shining with glee. Glenn grins. Now what about—

A shadow falls over him. Dimitri says, "Do you mind if I have a seat?"

Glenn shades a hand over his eyes and smiles up at him, determined not to let Felix's bombshell get to him. "Make yourself at home."

Dimitri sits down, crossing his legs neatly. Always so careful, for someone his size. Ugh.

"They wear you out?" Glenn says, waving a hand in the direction of their absent friends. 

Dimitri's spine is ramrod straight. "Actually," he says, and clears his throat. "I was hoping to get a chance to talk with you." 

"With me," Glenn repeats, and there is no reason for his heart to start pounding like a snare drum but it does anyway. All he can think, dumbly, is _Was Felix right?_

"Yes," Dimitri says. "I. Well. Obviously we see quite a lot of each other at, at Felix's house, er, your house, but."

Glenn waits. Dimitri's hair is half pulled back, strands falling in his eyes. There's a light flush across his cheeks. 

Dimitri draws a deep breath and says, "I wanted to ask if you'd like to... ah. Get a drink. Some time."

Glenn's mouth says the first thing that comes into his mind, which is, "Did you just ask me out on a date?"

Dimitri's eyes go huge. Fuck, was he _not_ asking Glenn on a date? Glenn is going to murder Felix with his bare hands—

Dimitri says, "Of course, I understand if—I'm sorry, I'm sure you're not—I didn't mean to presume—" He starts at least three different sentences, all of which are not only garbled but also wildly off base. Glenn holds up both hands.

"No, sorry, wait. Hold up." Dimitri obediently falls silent. "You weren't presuming anything. Not wrongly." Glenn swallows. "You're, uh. Right on target."

Dimitri's mouth falls open slightly. His blue eyes are glued to Glenn's face.

"It just didn't occur to me that you would be, you know." Glenn bites down on his lip; it doesn't help. "Interested."

Dimitri says, slowly, "Have you... seen yourself?

Glenn feels himself go scarlet. What the shit.

"Think that's my line," he gets out. Then they're both blushing. Great. Glenn gives in and drops his face into his hands. "Jesus, Dimitri. You serious?"

"Do you think I would joke about this?" Dimitri, too, sounds faintly indignant. "It wasn't easy."

"I'm just saying, the timing is incredibly suspicious, literally ten minutes ago Felix was saying—"

"What did Felix say," Dimitri says, so immediate that Glenn knows right away it's true.

He lifts his face from his hands to stare. "Oh my god."

Dimitri is full-on blushing now. "You were so—" he says, and then, giving up, "You can't possibly blame me."

"What, because I was just _that irresistible_ ," Glenn says. "In _high school_."

"Please don't make me talk about what I thought of you in high school," Dimitri says.

"Okay, okay." Glenn's honestly still half-dazed. "I just—okay. I mean, I'm flattered. Obviously. Both then and now." He gives Dimitri a lopsided smile. "But especially now."

Slowly, Dimitri offers a tentative smile back. "At the beginning of the summer... I remembered very quickly. Why I'd, ah. Felt that way."

Glenn laughs. He tilts his head back and runs a hand through his hair, aware his cheeks are warm. "Want to know what _I_ thought at the beginning of summer? I thought, watch yourself, can't let Dimitri know you think he's super hot now."

 _Whoosh_ , goes the scarlet rushing up Dimitri's face again. Glenn grins. 

Dimitri manages to sound composed when he says, "You did an excellent job." Glenn cracks up. "As a matter of fact, I thought—I thought that, well, what with returning to campus soon, and—" He can't quite make it.

Glenn says, "Thought you had to take your shot now, huh?"

"Yes," Dimitri says, and then, "Don't laugh."

Glenn isn't laughing at him. Glenn is slowly dying. It's so fucking cute. "Well," Glenn says, a can feel the smile creeping over his face, genuine and affectionate and a number of other terrible things that most people would not associate with Glenn Fraldarius. "I'm game if you are."

"Good," Dimitri says, and then, more firmly, "Good."

They just kind of look at each other dopily for a minute. Thank god Felix isn't around. Then Dimitri clears his throat and says, clearly grasping for a natural tone, "You were going to tell me about... something that happened with Cassandra?"

"Yes," Glenn says. "Yeah. I was. Honestly? I think I owe you one." 

Dimitri looks puzzled. "Me?"

Glenn smiles at him "Yeah. You." 

He lies back on the ground and crosses his arms behind his head. The sun filters down through the green leaves, warming his face. Dimitri looks down at him. Even from this angle, he looks unfairly handsome.

Glenn smiles up at the leaves and says, "So I was thinking about what I want to do with the rest of my life."

* * *

**one week later**

Rodrigue surveys the interior of the house from the front hall. "Well, I must say. This is much better than I expected."

"Isn't it?" Glenn agrees.

"What were you expecting," says Felix, aggrieved.

They trail their dad through the house as he takes in kitchen, dining room, living room. The carpet stains have been covered with a rug. He shakes his head and says, "Well done. Thank you. Both of you."

"It's whatever," Felix says, at the same time Glenn says, "You're welcome, I do great work."

Dad just smiles indulgently. "Well, I'm afraid I'm beat from the flight, but I'm sure you're tired of cooking. Or ordering out." Glenn raises his hands: guilty as charged. "What do you say we make a reservation for the yacht club tomorrow night? A little celebration."

"Uh," Glenn says. "Could we maybe go for the night after next? I've got—" He doesn't quite get it out smoothly, but close. "—plans."

"He's got a date," Felix says.

Glenn turns on him, murder on the brain. "You _really_ wanna play—" he starts, and is cut off by his own father.

"Glenn!" He's beaming. "That's wonderful. You haven't said a thing."

Glenn clears his throat. He can kill Felix later. "I, uh, yeah, just—playing it by ear for now. I'll, you know, tell you if it goes anywhere." Dad looks so encouraging, goddammit. Glenn can't help it; he smiles a little and says, "It feels good, though. I think you'd like them."

Felix rolls his eyes to the ceiling. Dad's smile only grows. "I'm so glad to hear it," he says. "I remember when I started seeing your mother—" which could be the start of any story Glenn and Felix have heard approximately ten thousand times before. Rodrigue's eyes are far away. Glenn makes eye contact with Felix and slashes a finger across his throat

"—of course," Dad is saying, "she was a blonde, too. I suppose it runs in the family."

Glenn's blood turns to ice water in his veins. "Excuse me?"

He must have heard wrong. He must have—

He remembers, looking into that utterly placid face, that there's a reason his father was US Attorney for the Southern District of New York for eight years running.

Somewhere to his left Felix has disappeared behind the sofa, where Glenn just knows he's laughing. Poker face or no, Dad couldn't have— There's no way he just _knows_ that.

"I know how grateful your brother is for all the quality time you spent with him, Glenn," Dad adds, and Glenn lunges over the back of the sofa.

"You _greasy little snitch_ —"

Felix has already hit the floor in a roll and is scrambling to his feet and out the back door. The little motherfucker has incredible reflexes, but Glenn's fueled by unleaded outrage. He brings down Felix like a gazelle on the savannah. Felix struggles to get free; no chance. Glenn starts in on the hair.

The shock of cold pinpricks against the side of his face make him jerk back, a reflex. Felix sputters and thrashes. They turn in unison.

"Behave," their father says mildly. He's holding—

—a water spritzer.

Glenn and Felix look at each other.

"Truce?" Glenn says.

"Truce," Felix agrees, as together they launch their counterattack.

**Author's Note:**

> ART BY THE GLORIOUS SEABEE:  
> [soccer felix!](https://twitter.com/eatmeout_gege/status/1276692756002484224)
> 
> 1) yes, there is meant to be a felix/sylvain companion piece. hopefully i will get it written.  
> 2) i don't have a proper soundtrack for this, but you could probably just loop 1989 and lover and get the right effect. ♫ it's a cruel summmmmmmmer~ ♫  
> 3) if you made it all the way here, thanks so much for tagging along with My OC Glenn Fraldarius, who is not dead.  
> 4) on twitter [@matchedpoint](http://twitter.com/matchedpoint). see you next time.


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